


To Resist both Wind and Tide

by erobey



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-27
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 03:25:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 15
Words: 110,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b>
<br/><i> This story is for Ana, a dear friend and gifted writer who composes the very hottest and most romantic A/L stories, manages to keep Arwen in them (sometimes), and keeps them all real and believable. Find her work here: <a href="http://www.ofelvesandmen.com/StoriesbyAuthor/A/AnaLibraryElf.htm">Ana the Library Elf</a>. This tale is just a small token of thanks for the many years of support and friendship she has shown me :-) Hope everyone else enjoys it, too.</i></p><p><i>The Chronicles tell of Aragorn's years of service to Thengel and to Ecthelion prior to the Ring Wars. In 2980, Thengel died and Aragorn left Gondor, heading east. It is shortly after this that he returned to Lorien and made his pledge to Arwen.This story takes place in that time period, but fate intervenes and Aragorn never returns to the fair Evenstar. Aragorn is 49 years old. The title is taken from Shakespeare's Henry VI.</i></p><p><i></i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambush in Rhovanian

##### "What fates impose, that men must needs abide; It boots not to resist both wind and tide."

#### Chapter One: Ambush in Rhovanian

  
Aragorn spared a second to silently name himself every kind of fool, unsheathing his sword and cursing the stubborn pride that had made him reject Ecthelion's offer of a full battalion of cavalry for the journey eastward. Yet they wouldn't have been the Steward's men at all but Denethor's, the Steward yet to be, and an uneasy and distrustful truce was the best Isildur's heir could manage to accord his keen-eyed, suspicious, and perilous cousin. Still, men of Gondor, be they Denethor's or Ecthelion's, would not have faltered in the current situation, for Uruks were the most despised of all Sauron's minions, and Aragorn would have been glad for the aid of a few strong arms and sharp blades.

 _In truth, too many years have I dwelled in the White City to be so easily duped as this._

He should never have followed their trail at all. The Uruks' could only be heading for Mirkwood and Dol Guldur. He should have at the very least gone back to Rohan to gather reinforcements. Somehow they'd caught his scent and decided to turn and eliminate their unwanted tagalong. Whatever they were planning to do in Mirkwood, it must be important for them to fear any news of it reaching those who opposed the growing might of Sauron.

 _Not that it matters now._

Issuing forth a mighty shout he charged into the fray, cleaving the head from the lead Uruk barrelling toward him, permanently spoiling its plan to do the same to him. He shoved the spouting corpse into the path of the next fastest one and swivelled to chop free its blade-bearing hand. A black-fletched bolt whizzed past his neck and yanked loose a strand or two of hair. Hastily he darted low and cut a dipping feint beneath an up-raised sabre aiming for his head and saw the orcish archer's next arrow skewer that self-same arm.

Still moving forward through the stampeding throng, he caught up his dagger, leaped, and let it fly while using the downward momentum to enhance the thrust of his sword. The steel made a peculiar squealing, scraping sound as it ploughed through a slavering, fang bedecked maw and out at the base of the scull. Hauling the blade free, he elbowed an armoured back, marked with satisfaction in which beast's throat his dagger was buried, dodged an axe blade with scant millimetres to spare, and on the follow through managed to hack away its bearer's knee.

 _Four down and only seven more to fell._

Aragorn knew full well he was facing his death; the odds against him were too great. As though to seal the prediction, a blade got past his defences, or rather reached him through non-existent defences. It was impossible to guard all sides at once. Not even an elf was that fast. The wound was not bad, a nick in the flesh of his thigh, but it made him stumble and that proved fortuitous, dropping him beneath a sabre that surely would have decapitated him. A quick turn and roll and his sword was up, positioned to block a killing jab from another blade, but it was only a matter of time.

 _And not much at that_.

The whine of another arrow split the air and was followed by more, but he could not locate the archer nor hope to stop him. The Uruk bowman was far from the heat of the battle, firing at his leisure, secure in the safety distance ensured. This is why he really hated Uruks; they were much better soldiers than common orcs and Sauron had taken great delight in ensuring his abominations possessed nearly the same accuracy with the bow as did the archers of Lorien. Aragorn's only hope was to use the dense press of bodies around him as living shields.

 _Either he will pierce his comrades in error and thus aid me or he must stop firing and thus aid me either way._

A loud grunt confirmed the former scenario as an Uruk went down and his fellows trampled over the convulsing body. In quick succession two more were likewise pierced and felled. Aragorn grinned, kicked the legs out from under his nearest assailant, and managed to gut another before a second jagged and rending jolt of agony burst through his concentration. He gritted his teeth against it and twisted away, hearing his own flesh rip, his own voice cry out, and then he was down, sword trapped beneath him, back exposed.

That should have been the end of him for there were still six or more Uruks on the attack. Instead, he scrambled up and swung wildly at the bulky black blur looming close, connecting with its body so hard he ended up on his knees again, the vile thing's blood spewing all over his face. Retching, he staggered back to his feet and heaved his sword at another, cleaving only air this time, but the Uruk fell all the same. None took its place. He faltered and nearly lost his balance again, then rallied, struggling to raise his sword a last time, the tear in his shoulder screaming in protest, or rather he was screaming in protest. There were no foes to answer that final, savage challenge. The yelling and screeching and clamour of battle was over.

It made no sense. How could it be over and he still alive? Aragorn peered at the scene in confusion. All the Uruks were felled, be they dead or dying. Chest heaving, mindful of blood dampening his back and icy pain accompanying every in-drawn breath, he turned warily about, sword at the ready. Surely they had retreated and were regrouping. He scanned the distance but the only motion came from the swaying grass. Every one of the Uruks was finished and his senses told him there were no more in hiding, not even the elusive archer.

 _How?_

Wanting nothing more than to tend the injury to his shoulder, he dismissed the desire to sit and rest. This had to be some hoax, some trap. He could not accept the truth his sight revealed. Once more he turned and surveyed the carnage, counting the bodies scattered over the churned and riven earth, nose wrinkling at the stench of bitter blood clotting in the heat of the sun, unable to grasp how his fate had changed so quickly, so favourably. He thought perhaps Mithrandir was lurking somewhere about, or his brothers had come upon him by some unforeseen turn of luck, but all was silent and desolate. There was no one.

 _No one. Yet there must be._

Aragorn only saw him because he fell, a silent, weightless drop to the earth, a bright flash of golden hair the flag that marked his fall. Huddled in a crumpled heap at the uttermost verge of the drab, brown plains, beyond the reach of the shadow cast by the whispering leaves and out-stretched limbs of Mirkwood, just there lay the body of his unknown ally: a lone Wood Elf. Stunned, Aragorn could but stare, bewildered and befuddled, for the silvan folk of Thranduil's realm did not venture this far south. They remained secluded in the northern-most corner of the ancient woods, pushed back even beyond the boundary of the Forest Road, dwelling, if the legends were true, beneath the ground like dwarven folk. They never travelled singly, either, or would dare pass Dol Guldur as this one must have done.

 _Wood Elves do not go that way._

Apparently, they did. Obviously, this one did. Unless he was dreaming, and the dire pain of the rent in his shoulder said he was not, then there lay a solitary Wood Elf, fallen that he might live. The notion burst through his scattered thoughts and Aragorn found his senses, gave a horrified cry, and raced through the shin-high grass of the sand-coloured sward, casting down his weapon as he came near and knelt beside the still and lifeless form. Fingers trembling and bloody reached for the neck beneath the swath of sunlit hair and Aragorn pressed, seeking a pulse. All the air gushed from his lungs in a giddy bark of triumph when he felt it, faint and fast. Absently he wiped his gory hand across the grass before carefully turning the warrior over, grimacing in dismay to find a black arrow drilled deep between his ribs.

 _The lung will be punctured._

He knew better than to remove the shaft until he had means to properly treat the internal damage, too, and continued his assessment. The arrow wound was the only visible injury and while such was not necessarily fatal, especially among the First-born who were by design rather difficult to kill, the likelihood of the bolt being tipped in poison was high. If such was the case, the quicker he could reach Lothlorien the better, and so thinking Aragorn grasped the feathered end of the embedded arrow and snapped it off, so to lessen the chance of aggravating the wound during travel. The report sounded loud in the empty space but not nearly so voluble as the piercing cry that fled the Wood Elf's lips.

Eyes that had been sealed flew open to gaze upon him in fear and anger, limbs that had been lifeless cast Aragorn back upon his rear and reached to snatch hold of a most efficient looking bow, while legs that should not be able to bear any weight carried him upright in seconds. The man found himself staring at the point of a very well made arrow and noted with interest that it was crafted from obsidian, the delicate scallops defining its apex perfectly symmetrical and evenly placed.

A harsh gasp left the elf's struggling lungs as bolt and bow both wavered before toppling amid the desiccated grass. Aragorn looked up into panicked blue eyes as the warrior clutched his chest, fingers gingerly laced about the ugly stub of black-stained wood, fighting to breathe.

"Bâ! Ai, ni skarna, kalrôdede skarna orkuî tultâ, ni meina, kalrô, de deljâ"

His speech was strange to hear, the words cut off as he doubled over, coughing and gasping, and Aragorn knew not what it meant. He caught the suffering ellon just as he pitched forward, vomiting blood and something darker down his tattered tunic. A feeble groan followed and then he was limp and silent once more, hair hanging all about and spilling over Aragorn's lap.

"This is not meet," said Aragorn aloud, glancing up at the cloud spattered sky as though he thought to find Manwë himself drifting on the gusting wind and watching over the scene.

With a sigh of resignation he eased the elf back to lie upon the ground and stood, hand shielding his eyes as he scanned the trampled ground for signs of his pack, hastily cast aside ere the fight began. No sooner had he spied it and taken a step than he heard a most unpleasant sound, a sound that made his heart falter and his skin crawl. A high, unholy shriek arose from beneath the trees, rising and echoing deep within the woods, seeping out into the Bite and the Brown Lands in the sweltering noon-day air. Aragorn shuddered and fought to control his terror, running now for the pack, crouching low as though that might afford him cover in the barren plain, realising what that sound portended for him and his unconscious friend.

 _Nazgûl. What more could one ask?_

He reached his kit unscathed and wrapped his shoulder in the quickest field dressing he had ever applied, tied off the small cut on his thigh, and made another mad dash through the field of corpses for the Wood Elf. The foul shadow-king bellowed again. Aragorn could not control his body's involuntary response and halted mid-stride in the grass, two metres from the elf, every instinct demanding he turn and flee. He mastered himself and with a feral growl clenched his fists and forced his legs to move. The woodland archer had not stirred even in the noise of their approaching doom, but Aragorn did not pause to check for his pulse again. Kneeling, he gathered the boneless body to him and rose, a strained groan escaping as pain spiked through his shoulder. He ran for the river, just barely near enough to spy.

Hooves drummed upon the earth behind him and Aragorn's heart dropped into his stomach. The noise of the Wraith had not been so near as that, surely not, yet he was pursued. The surrounding trees must have deadened the sound and confused him. Denial and determination demanded more speed from his straining muscles; he would not die like this nor permit that corrupt ghoul to have the elf. Lungs, already burning with the effort of the futile escape attempt, failed to give sufficient air and he staggered to a halt. Where could they go on foot? He could not outrun a charging war horse. It was beyond hopeless.

Honour and ancestry insisted he face this foe rather than be cut down on the run. Cursing the Powers, he let the Wood Elf drop and spun, sword ringing as he unsheathed it, ready to meet death bravely and show the Witch King, if it should be he, of what steely stuff the hearts of the Dunedain were made.

"My life you might take," he challenged boldly, "but you'll not" and then his words died in his throat as he saw what followed them. Aragorn blinked and then laughed aloud, lifting sword and countenance skyward. "Eglerio Varda a pân Valar vi Valinor!" he cried in jubilation and then seated the blade back in its scabbard, eyes once more on his pursuer. "Tolo enni, lobor vae, lobor arod, tolo sí," he crooned softly, extending his hand to the curious horse observing his strange behaviour.

It was an elf-raised horse, this was apparent at once, and could thus only belong to the wounded Wood Elf, for no equine would ever consent to bear an orc much less an Uruk, nor would any wild beast seek to join his frantic dash over the dismal wastes. Aragorn decided he had much for which to thank this unknown sylvan archer for the horse would grant them the speed required to get beyond the river and on to Lorien. The Wraiths would never bother to leave their lair to track one lowly elf and a single Ranger. Suddenly the future was no longer delimited by the next few seconds.

As he expected, the horse came to him readily. The elf must have commanded her to stay hidden and she'd obeyed until her master was borne away. A velvety black muzzle nuzzled Aragorn's hand and an intelligent liquid brown eye peered into his, assessing his worth. Satisfied with the quality of his character, the mare went at once to the fallen ellon, nudging the slumped form gently, blowing soft nickering concern through his tangled yellow hair. Her efforts raised an incoherent grumble and ineffectual stirring of the limbs but nothing more.

"Be not alarmed, mellon, he will live if any aid of mine can assure it. The First-born are nearly indestructible, especially this variety, if the rumours be true. Bear us away to Lorien and I will tend him."

Aragorn patted the mare's neck, spotted and flecked with ruddy brown and checked the leather strapping which secured a small pack and two bundles of arrows to her whithers. To these he added his meagre luggage and then took up the elf again, for there was no time to waste. Glad the weight of the woodland folk was not like that of his twin brothers, Aragorn draped his unlikely ally over the horse's neck and sprang up behind him. Barely had he settled before the Wraith's horrid voice razed the air once more, noticeably nearer now. The mare flinched, flattened her ears, and bolted for the thin ribbon of glitter and gleam that marked the river's domain.

Her speed surprised the man and he grabbed at both the senseless ellon and her flying black mane. It was news to learn the forest folk kept such steeds as this and he wondered if there once had been accord and trade between Greenwood and Rohan. What he knew of the Rohirrim suggested otherwise, for they were a superstitious folk and distrusted even the people of Galadriel. Yet Aragorn smiled, leaning low over the archer, well pleased to have such unexpectedly swift transportation no matter how she had come to belong to a Wood Elf. Again his luck had changed favourably and the man gave thought to curbing his habit of blaming the Valar for every little trial and trouble, as his mother so often exhorted.

Alas, powers for both good and ill warred over the fate of both man and elf and evil struck another blow. Before they came near enough to spot the catkins of the marshy fens, a hail of black arrows flew from the bleak shadows of the forest, falling short but sinking deep into the soft earth, a barrier the mare could not ignore. She skidded and half-reared, twisting her body away from the deadly peril, changing direction and flying south into the desolate steppes of the deserted plains. Neither command nor coaxing could sway their course and Aragorn could hardly blame her. A glance behind revealed a continuous barrage of arrows as the glamhoth of Dol Guldur spilled into the Brown Lands and gave chase.

 _At least they are not warg-riders; we'll outrun them easily._

So it seemed and Aragorn grinned as the blasted country retreated, a blur beneath the mare's hooves. Surely they would reach the marshes opposite the Field of Celebrant and cross there. They could still make it to the safety of Lothlorien. No sooner had the thought passed through his mind than he felt the mare lurch and bounce once more, so severely he was nearly unseated and had he not kept hold of the elf the archer would have been thrown down, no matter how dearly she loved him. She snorted and danced, weaving back and forth, highly disturbed and the reason soon made itself known. Pounding over the horizon came five more Uruks and behind them a swarm of Mordor orcs astride wargs. They were all shouting and laughing like a pack of jackals, brandishing their ugly sabres and gnashing their rotten teeth.

"Eru's Arse!" hissed Aragorn. "What more?"

It was the wrong question, for the mare twirled again and now the man saw the orcs from Dol Guldur racing for Anduin, too. The hideous things must know he meant to head for the Golden Wood and planned to cut him off. That was not a fight he could win and Aragorn's hopes evaporated. There was nothing to do but continue south and try to get across into the Wold, hoping to find shelter there. Here, the great river's bank was a sloping land of swamps, meers, and quick-mud. The horse might easily founder and become trapped in the mire, making them all easy targets. Even if she succeeded, they would be caught between orcs, Uruks, and warg riders, Anduin at their backs and Fangorn Forest before them, but what other option was left?

 _Perhaps they will not follow after such a paltry prize. A race, then, into the river, into the west._

The horse, needing no urging, came to the same decision on her own, wheeled and thundered for the wetlands, terrified and driven to desperate measures. Into the fen she plunged, leaping and bounding through the rushes and the reeds, panting and wild-eyed but determined. All the man could do was hold on and pray none of the Uruks were archers.

Despite the probability that the three of them would surely perish, Aragorn could not suppress his admiration for the sturdy pony's gallant effort. Not a whinny did she utter as she navigated the treacherous and shifting sands, seeking the deeps of the wide, sluggish stream. At last she plopped into the main channel, only her head above the water, and started paddling with renewed vigour, eyes on the distant shoreline. Aragorn abruptly realised the elf was now face down in the flow and grabbed a handful of wet hair, lugging the body backwards into his lap. The archer's colour had turned a sickly grey hue.

"Get us ashore or he is lost," he informed their mount and her ears twitched back in reply.

The valiant little horse was wise and did not fight the current, swimming steadily within the stream as she angled her weight for the opposite bank. The dim and forbidding swath of darkness that was Fangorn marked the horizon, spreading and growing as the dry, barren plains shrank away behind them. The mare was carried ever to the south and Aragorn could not help but be glad, for orcs would be stepping onto the Field of Celebrant, where only a narrow, reed-choked tributary separated them from the Wold. He glanced over and saw them fighting to get across Anduin, orcs not the swiftest of swimmers.

The mare's hooves struck the pebbled bottom of the western shore and she heaved herself up a steep embankment onto the rugged, lonely fields skirting the ancient forest of Fangorn. The Wold was sparsely populated, a croft here and there and scattered herds of horses and their keepers, for it bordered the lush meadows of Rohan. Perhaps, if their luck held and the magnificent steed's heart did not burst, Aragorn could get his injured ally there.

To spare her, the man slid from her back and jogged along in time with her plodding trot, hand upon the archer to steady him for the mare was lurching and stumbling. He looked back and saw the Uruks halted in the plain, bellowing commands at the Mordor orcs who were rampaging up and down the edge of the swamp. They were not coming across. It had been a near thing, for wargs were good swimmers, and had they followed there was no doubt they'd have caught up once ashore. As he'd gambled, whatever was happening at Dol Guldur was more important than two spies. There was hope again and Aragorn praised the horse softly.

She stopped then, head low and sides heaving, and turned her head to nudge against her master's leg. She stamped and issued a strident snort, eyes boring into the man's. Clearly she knew the Wood Elf was in dire need of care and would go no further until he received it. Aragorn found her prognosis beyond reproach for he could find evidence of neither pulse nor breath. Quickly he dragged the archer to the ground and set to saving him. He had to breathe for his patient almost a full minute before the ellon gave a gagging heave and expelled a putrid flux of blood, water, and black bile.

"Elbereth, just breathe, mellon," Aragorn smiled and turned him on his side as the gut wrenching gasps continued. "Indestructible," he grunted in admiration as colour returned to the elf's cheeks. He moaned in dismal misery as Aragorn rolled him over and then angry blue eyes focused on him. "Now let me see to your hurts and we may yet have a chance to tell a tale to rival Glorfindel's narrowest escapes."

"Nae, ni wannâ," the elf ground out, fisting the ground beneath him as the wound was prodded. He hissed in the agony that flared with every touch and flashed the man an accusing glare.

"I don't know what you just said, but it sounded rather hopeless," Aragorn scowled back. "Prove to me you speak SIndarin and answer in kind: Do the woodland folk despair so quickly? Have you any concept of what this horse of yours has gone through to get you safely this far?"

The ellon's brows quirked skyward and his eyes searched for his horse as a faint smile replaced the morose expression.

"Aye, Tuilelindô, tolo," he whispered and she obeyed, dropping her muzzle down into his hand and blowing softly over his palm.

"Good, much better. Now this arrow must come free and that is not a thing you will like, mellon, but you are indeed blessed by the Valar, for I have studied the healing arts under no less a master than Lord Elrond of Imladris," Aragorn said, offering his most professional and confident healer's smile.

"Matters nothing," spoke the Wood Elf. "Uruk archers always use poison; makes up for poor aim. But do what you may and I hold no debt against you, here or in Mandos."

"Graciously spoken," Aragorn dipped his head gravely. "If we speak again we will learn each other's names and swear friendship, for we will have beat down death, you for me and I for you."

He worked as quickly as he could and was neither surprised nor dismayed when his patient lost consciousness during the procedure, for it was long and gruelling. Just one grating cry had escaped him and then he was still and unresponsive. Aragorn could not refute the sylvan's experience concerning Uruk archers for the wound bled more than it should and he had to sew shut the gaping hole with a strand of the elf's hair. Even then the gash seeped and Aragorn bound it tightly with herbs and gauze. Then he could but wait and hope. Two hours passed before the Wood Elf came to, struggling to control his need to give voice to the agony and failing, shivering and twitching on the ground. He opened his eyes and fixed them on Aragorn.

"Ni ringi," he muttered in forlorn and fretting tones, drifting away again, eyes blinking shut.

"Somehow, I doubt that was your name you spoke just now," quipped the man softly and smiled. He smoothed his hand over the damp brow and wished he had asked the name first. Now he might never learn who had saved his life.

TBC

Some Important Dates to Keep in Mind:  
taken from [Encyclopaedia of Arda](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/default.asp)

  
 **2930**  
Birth of Denethor in Minas Tirith, later to become Steward Denethor II.  
 **2931**  
1 March Birth of Aragorn II Elessar.  
 **2941**  
Expulsion of the Necromancer from Dol Guldur by the White Council.  
October The Battle of Five Armies.  
 **2948**  
Birth of Théoden, later King of Rohan.  
 **2951**  
The Nazgûl are sent to reclaim Dol Guldur.  
 **2953**  
Death of Steward Turgon. He is succeeded by his son, Ecthelion II.  
Death of King Fengel of Rohan. He is succeeded by his son Thengel.  
 **2957**  
Aragorn enters the service of Thengel of Rohan, under the alias of Thorongil.  
 **2980**  
Death of King Thengel of Rohan. He is succeeded by his son Théoden.  
'Thorongil' (Aragorn) leaves the service of Gondor and travels into the east. 



	2. Shallow Shelter

#### Chapter Two: Shallow Shelter

The day was quickly waning and Aragorn was mindful of the need to find shelter. Not only was he exhausted, wet, cold, and wounded but his unconscious companion was in the throes of a horrific struggle against the poison, alternately thrashing in frightful convulsions and gagging on vomit and more of the vile-looking dark fluid, then going deathly still and limp, a thin reedy keening issuing from his lips. The man could scarcely leave his side lest the elf suffocate while in the grip of one of these fits. Even though there was little hope his unknown saviour would defeat the poison, Aragorn could not leave him to endure it alone, whether the ellon knew he was there or not. The man would not like to be abandoned to meet such a gruesome death, bereft of kin and kindness in the wilds of some foreign place, and was certain he would know, deep in the core of his soul, if that was his fate, insensible or not.

 _If a mortal would know it, so much greater would be the grasp of an immortal, for whom death is a sacrilege._

They had made no more progress due to the archer's deteriorating condition as he could not remain on the horse even with Aragorn holding him. They were still many leagues from Fangorn where cover might be had amid the mighty trees, basically out in the open scrublands of the Wold where anyone might come upon them. Thus there was the possibility that orcs might be closing from across the Field of Celebrant to their north. The only good point about the location he could name was that the flatness of the land afforded him just as wide a view of the surrounds and anyone moving across it. What exactly he would do should he detect an approaching enemy was rather tenuous, for he was not going to be of much use in a serious fight, at least not for more than the first few minutes, after which he would surely be dead.

It was not a favourable situation.

The mare was quickest to recover from the ordeal of the chase and took to guarding the place where her master lay prostrate on the ground, marking out the perimeter a half-league round to the north and along the river bank, all while seeming to nibble the grass and leaves. Aragorn wasn't sure what exactly made him certain she was doing this, only that her ears were forever trained in those directions, her head came up rather more often than a grazing horse's normally would, and she tested the air with her flared nostrils just as frequently. He'd never seen anything like it. With that slender assurance of warning should they come under threat, he was able to gather what skimpy deadwood there was and make a fire. Keeping it going was another problem for which he was too tired to consider the solution at the moment. Who it might draw to their camp was an additional but unavoidable risk.

 _Let it be one of the clans of the Rohirrim._

The fire was for him and quickly he stripped out of his soaked garments and huddled close to the dancing flames. Everything was saturated: cloak, blanket, clothes, boots, way-bread, herbs and bandaging, everything. He knew he should spread it all out in the sun but couldn't find the energy to do it. Besides, it wouldn't have time to dry before sunset and it would all only become damp again in the dew come dawn. His shoulder was aching miserably and he groaned, raising and rotating the arm as much as he dared just to see what range of motion was left to him, which proved to be negligible as far as wielding a sword was concerned. He sincerely hoped the orcs of Dol Guldur had turned back.

 _Surely the Wraiths called them home for this important conclave with the Uruks._

Just what had the Wood Elf been doing, hanging about that blighted place alone? No sooner had he thought this and turned his eyes to track over the languishing form beside him than another of the convulsive seizures began. Aragorn moved closer and adjusted the shaft of an arrow he'd set between the elf's teeth to ensure he didn't bite through his tongue. Little more could he do than settle a comforting hand against the pounding heart and utter soothing assurances that he was not alone. The fit subsided and as before the struggle to evacuate the accumulating wastes from the poison began, the archer gurgling and heaving, twisting to his side and regurgitating the nasty stuff all over himself and the ground. The smell of it was the most putrid odour Aragorn had ever encountered and he had to struggle to keep his own gorge down. When it was done the depleted ellon moaned in that pathetic sounding way and fell limp.

The man did the best he could to clean up the mess but saw little point in going down to the river and gathering water for such a purpose. In minutes it would all start again and without actually taking off the stained clothes and scrubbing them in the flow there was no hope of actually cleansing away that stench. Aragorn had no energy to waste on that. He resettled the now deeply incised wooden dowel between the lax lips and was surprised to find weary blue eyes regarding him. Aragorn's brows rose as he smiled.

"You are awake," he announced. "I confess your resilience astounds me; most elves would already be dead. I have never known anyone to defeat poison of this nature without the aid of either a specific antidote or potent healing magic."

The elf blinked, inhaled a deep and frightfully noisy breath, fumbled the arrow from his mouth, and managed a hoarse whisper: "Nen, ha thelich." (Water, if you will it.)

"Gladly," Aragorn answered and fetched his water skin, which he'd kept near to hand just in case the elf recovered. He raised the archer's head and was gratified to see him drink several swallows before seeking to turn from the fluid.

Settling beside his patient, he eased open the thoroughly revolting tunic and carefully removed the dressing, brow furrowing as he inspected the ugly gash. The stitching was holding but the suture oozed a pinkish, yellowish fluid and the flesh it joined was still hot and swollen. With a sigh he gathered the sodden gauze remaining in his pack and bound it back as tight as the elf could stand. He was still conscious and Aragorn met the pain-filled gaze again.

"It does not look good," he said gravely. "Do you know if you are healing or not?"

This question raised an expression of supreme, unmitigated disdain; a difficult feat to achieve when one is debilitated and helpless but the archer managed it.

"Wood Elf," he rasped indignantly and struggled to lift a hand and tap his chest, though not near the wound. "Healed before dawn." That exhausted his available strength for some minutes so he was unable to do more than scowl at the man's openly sceptical expression and the speech that followed.

"I hope you are correct for there is little more I can do. I believe it would be best to open the wound and drain it again; packing it might be a better option than stitching it shut."

The huge round eyes regarded him in consternation made Aragorn cease his assessment as the ellon's hand wandered cautiously to the bandage, palpating ever so slightly. This initiated a sharp spasm of pain and a gasp.

"Nay! Do not tamper with it, mellon; it is in a most delicate state just now," the man caught and removed the offending fingers. "I had to close it thus for you were bleeding profusely and I could not staunch the flow. The suture is holding, but barely and there is a discharge the look and smell of which I do not like. Now that there is fire, I can cauterise it with the heat of the flames and perhaps that would purify the tainted flesh as well," he mused, glancing behind at the struggling blaze.

When he turned back he found himself facing the lethal end of a very finely made dagger, the blade engraved beautifully in an elegant if obscure elvish script, the steel inlaid with mithril in a pattern so ancient he could not hope to identify its meaning. It looked like something from the First Age. Somehow his patient had raised himself up on an elbow and drawn this cunningly hidden dirk, so quickly and quietly that Aragorn was really impressed. He looked past the dagger into eyes shining with fury and unchecked terror.

"Ah. That is not necessary, mellon," he said cautiously, moving as little as possible even though the elf's arm was already shaking with the effort to hold the dagger ready to strike. "Please, conserve your strength for killing any enemies we may yet have to face down. I mean you no harm of any sort."

"Flames! Torture! You call that no harm?" demanded the archer, croaking out these words and sweating from the pain maintaining the menacing posture was costing him. To his utter shame both arm and elbow gave out and he crumpled up in a heap. His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned in dismal defeat. He could not believe after all this that the man would truly burn him.

"Nay, not torture; it is a means of healing well known among the elves of Imladris where it is used extensively. I was trained there, as I told you," Aragorn clarified and made no move to take the weapon away. That more than anything ought to convince the Wood Elf of his sincerity.

"Noldorin idea of healing," the patient growled in a mix of fear and aversion, "kills as often as it cures."

"I will not do it if the wound improves as you believe it will." Aragorn was surprised by this remark but more so by the panicked response his words had yielded. "Be at peace. It is not my intent to make you suffer."

There was only the archer's stilted and strained effort to respire for answer and Aragorn deemed he was safe from attack for the moment. He backed away, returning to the fireside to warm himself and check whether his blanket was going to be dry enough to use during the night. It wasn't and he grunted in high displeasure, shivering and running his hands up and down his arms. The fire was dying and he would have to do something about that soon; plus, he had not as yet arranged shelter against the chill of Ithil's hours. It was autumn still and thus not cold enough to produce even a mild frost, but in his condition he needed real sleep and not the uncomfortable tossing and shivering he would endure in the open. He sighed, the sound more a low moan, and heaved himself upright.

"I must gather more wood," he offered in case the elf was watching but a glance revealed he was unconscious, only this time the eyes were not sealed tight. It was true healing sleep, something the man had seen many times, and portended a full recovery. Aragorn paused in wonder. "Indestructible," he murmured and gave a quick shake of the head as he set out.

When next the elf awoke, Aragorn had no indication of it and thus remained oblivious to the fact that he was being carefully observed for many minutes. It had been some hours and the sun had set, leaving only the meagre light of the humble campfire to provide illumination until the rising of the moon. He had found little enough wood and was anticipating losing the comforting heat and light long before dawn. Thus, he was occupied creating a means to remain both hidden and warm.

Still naked, he was struggling to carve out a shallow bowl in the soft earth. It took a great deal of effort as all he had to use was in fact the Wood Elf's dagger and his hands. When he was satisfied with the little trench, which happened shortly after the elf awoke and began watching him, he flopped over on his back beside the slight depression, panting and voicing a truly vile curse up into the darkening sky. The effort had raised his temperature and set his shoulder to producing waves of stabbing agony all through his back and down his arm. Not only that, the perspiration coating him would soon have him shivering again. He wasn't sure but he might be feverish, too. It would be just ridiculous to have survived all the events previous only to perish in the night from exposure or a raging infection.

 _Or both, more likely._

"Kalrô, why are you naked?" asked the Wood Elf quietly and was amused to see the startled reaction his query produced. The man sat bolt upright and held the now dirt-caked dagger out before him. He exhaled and lowered the weapon and himself back to the ground with a pained grunt.

"Valar, you made my heart stop, mellon," Aragorn complained. "Are you always so silent?"

"It is my nature," said the archer.

Save for the man's heavy breathing, he gave no further explanation and while the elf was not content with this he realised his benefactor was not in the best condition. He waited patiently for several minutes and then wondered if the man had fallen asleep or lost consciousness. That would not do; he knew mortals were weak, subject to putrefaction even from small wounds, and had no desire for this one to die. A worthy fighter among the tribe of men was rare and this one was exceptional even among that small number. Tracking a band of Uruks alone was unheard of, but to then engage them in bloody warfare was absolutely insane.

 _And very brave, noble._

Other humans of which the elf knew would have hastily thrown in their lot with the advancing Uruks. Whether or not that would save them was irrelevant, they possessed no honour.

"Kalrô," he called urgently, "can you hear? Are you well?" He raised himself once more to elbow height to peer at the still form.

"I hear," answered Aragorn, "but I am not well. And you?"

"As I said, healed by the time Anor rises," reminded the woodland warrior. "What can I do?"

Aragorn exhaled a rather harsh laugh, coming up to sit beside the elf and evaluate his condition. The ellon's eyes were clear but it was plain he was still suffering deeply and weakened by the toxins coursing through his system. Tremors visibly ran over his frame in regular waves, rippling down his torso and legs, forcing him to clench his jaws to keep them from chattering. The notion, virtuous though its motive might be, that he would be able to tend to himself much less anyone else was ludicrous.

"I do not think it wise for you to exert yourself just yet, mellon. The poison recedes but still has you in its clasp. Stay still and let your body heal fully." He reached over and landed a companionable pat against his patient's shoulder, casually letting his fingers brush the white throat so to test the heat there. The skin was almost icy to touch.

"Kalrô, I am not"

"What is that you keep calling me?" Aragorn cut him off. "I hope it is not something unpleasant like 'ugly dim-witted mortal' or such." The elf giggled, a bright soft sound almost child-like in its clear, ringing tones and the man smiled to hear it.

"Nay, it means a man, noble and brave. It means what you are." He propped himself up a little more so that he was almost sitting but then found he could not do better as a sharp stab of pain lanced through his chest. "Is there any more water?" he managed with difficulty.

"Aye," Aragorn brought it forth and again helped him drink, noticing he consumed nearly the entire contents of the skin this time. "That is a fine thing to call me, but I have a name and would hear you speak that instead. I am Aragorn, a Ranger of the lands about Eriador."

"Mae govannen, Aragorn of Eriador. I am Legolas," said the archer and raised his arm to clasp the man's, touching on the soft thin layer of hair on the bare skin. "Aragorn, why are you naked?"

"Because all my clothes are soaking wet and I am chilled and likely to become more chilled if something isn't done about it soon," Aragorn answered somewhat gruffly. "If my nakedness offends you, I am sorry, but humans do not have the defences against the natural elements which the First-born possess."

"I am not offended; I just didn't know," Legolas hastened to explain, embarrassed, and drew his hand back.

"Curious one, are you?" chuckled Aragorn. "Have you ever met a human before, Legolas?" This innocuous query produced a distinct change in the elf that perplexed and worried Aragorn, for Legolas grew quiet and suddenly turned away his face. He gave no answer at all and time spread between them into an uncomfortable gulf. The air around the archer was lit by a new intensity in his soft elvish glow and Aragorn had the impression his words had made Legolas both angry and frightened. Not sure how to handle this, he decided to change the subject when his companion at last spoke.

"I am wet and cold, also," Legolas complained softly. "If I could rise, I would show you where there is a peat bog close by. That would render fuel that would warm us well."

"A fine idea, but I fear neither of us is fit enough to cut peat for the fire," Aragorn replied. He did not doubt the ellon's claim, assuming he could probably smell the bog, but since he could not it must be farther than was plausible for them to journey, even with the horse to help. "If we can survive the night, then your fine mare will carry us to a better location on the morrow."

"I will survive it," assured Legolas, but then shuddered violently and abruptly rolled over and retched, bringing up the water and more of the horrid black fluid. He coughed and groaned and tried to drag himself away from the stinking smear of sticky gunk coating the ground beside him. At the same time he noticed it was all over him and in his hair. "Ai! Tawar nin beria."

"Be still," exhorted Aragorn, moving to help him. "Listen to me, Legolas. I have made a place for us to spend the night, a sort of burrow, there beside the fire pit. I will line it with willow fronds and fern from the bank and over it I will prop my blanket. Though it is still damp, as long as the fabric does not lie upon us it will not rob us of heat. If we share this space I believe our combined warmth will keep us hale through Ithil's hours. Yet for this to succeed, I cannot lie against your wet garments. You will need to be naked, too. Can you abide this?"

"I can abide it," Legolas answered without hesitation, though his voice was not quite so assured as the words proclaimed.

"Good. Then rest while I finish the burrow," said Aragorn and left him there, eager to be done and settled under the crude shelter before the fire died. He had rather the Wood Elf be unconscious, in a way, as he detected some strong conflict within him and suspected the rumours about the woodland folk must be true. It was said in Imladris, by his brothers no less, that they held human-kind responsible for negating the valiant sacrifice of so many of Greenwood's people at the Battle of the Last Alliance. Isildur's Folly, the man reflected, yet again proved his bane, too. Lying next to one of the Second-born in so vulnerable an estate, wounded and helpless to boot, was not going to be an easy thing for this ellon to do.

 _Nor for me. What if he does fall senseless and awakens suddenly in his pain and sickness? I may die this night by the hand of the one who saved me._

It was a sobering thought and the man wondered if there was any means to politely keep the dagger, which the elf had not demanded returned to him. Aragorn worked quickly despite his reservations for he was shaking now with cold and had need to stop and give his body rest. It seemed a monumental task to drive the branches meant to support the blanket into the pliant ground. That done, he settled the woollen cover over them and dragged himself back to the Wood Elf's side. All this time Legolas had remained still and silent and Aragorn hoped to find him submerged in healing slumber. Such was not the case.

"You do not look well," said Legolas, watching the man's staggering step as he neared and dropped heavily to his knees beside him.

"Nor do you," remarked Aragorn, displeased to see this was true. Legolas was shaking nearly as badly as he, skin pale and glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. He worried if there might be internal bleeding he had not adequately stopped and whether he was observing signs of shock. "What can you tell me about what is happening to you?"

"I am cold," Legolas shrugged one shoulder faintly. "The poison is still in me. II may still be fraught with the need to purge."

"If that is all then it is nothing we need worry over," assured Aragorn, hoping to ease the Wood Elf's mortification. It was so uncommon for one of the First-born to be ill that it was deemed a sign of weakness.

"It is vile," murmured Legolas with great disgust and was shocked to hear the man laugh.

"When last I checked, elves did not suffer ill-effects from the application of water and soap," he joked, "nor do humans. When we are rested and feeling better, we will simply have to wash in the river."

"You are not bothered by any of this?" Legolas gazed at him in mild dread, knowing what must come next for he had already tried to undress and failed. He was nearly as helpless as a babe.

"Is there reason to be?" asked Aragorn lightly, but then thought anew about the possibility of a struggle in the dark with his new friend. "You would not murder me by accident, would you, Legolas?"

"What?" Legolas pushed himself up on his elbow with difficulty and glared into the shadowy face regarding him. "That is an extremely insulting thing to say. If I was not ill, I would make you take it back."

"It is an honest concern, nothing more," insisted Aragorn. "What will you do if you waken beside me in the grip of pain and sickness, mistaking me as the cause?"

"That will not happen," spat Legolas, furious.

"How can you be sure?" demanded Aragorn. "I mean no offence to your sense of honour, for you have saved my life. Having done so, I hope to make certain you do not reverse the gift by mistake."

"I would never confuse you for the cause of my injuries," huffed Legolas, "no matter how deep in the grip of this poison I fall. Know you so little of the First-born? I thought you said you were a trained healer."

"I am but this is not a subject that has ever come up. I told you, most of the elves I know would already be dead by now."

"You must not know any Wood Elves."

"Until today, I did not."

They fell silent then, regarding one another in the flickering shadows cast by the wavering tongues of the subsiding fire. Legolas peered intently into the man's eyes, struggling to see in the gloom whether there was anything to counter what his instincts told him. From the first moment he'd come upon Aragorn fighting so valiantly against such impossible odds, he'd sensed that here was a worthy man who should not be permitted to die such a meaningless death. Hearing his voice gave further evidence of a mind and spirit filled with wisdom and compassion. He did not believe this was a person prone to speaking falsehoods. If this was so, then he truly did not understand. Legolas sighed and gave a quick nod to himself.

"I have already accepted you," he said. "We share a bond of life over death, even as you said. I know your scent and the very rhythm of your heartbeat. This is something I am not able to forget, no matter my health. It is something that happens inside the soul, not the mind, and overrides all. I could never raise my hand against you much less kill you. It would be like kin-slaying."

"Truly?" Aragorn was amazed, never having heard of this before. "Is this the way for all the woodland folk?"

"To my knowledge."

"Then I have no reservations," announced Aragorn, "other than fear of causing you distress or worsening your injury."

"You also are wounded and have had no help tending the cut. What should I do if your worsen in the night?"

"There is little you could do, I fear, in your present state. We will have to trust the Powers this night. Tomorrow, if your strength returns, then perhaps you can take a look for me. Have you any skill in the healing arts?"

"Only the most rudimentary knowledge," Legolas shook his head, "but I can clean and dress a wound as well as any and stitch it if need demands."

"Then that is what you will do, but tomorrow. I am beyond weary, Legolas, and have need to get into the warmth of that burrow. With your permission, I would help you remove those wet garments before we move into the den."

"Aye," sighed Legolas unhappily. He submitted to Aragorn's careful manipulation, aiding as much as possible to turn or lift when needed. The tunic and shirt were not particularly daunting though the removal was painful and left him gasping, grateful the man waited until he recovered somewhat before continuing. Peeling off the leather leggings was humiliating but not overly uncomfortable.

"There," announced Aragorn cheerfully. "Now I feel less awkward."

"You did not seem anxious before," said Legolas, bewildered.

"Well, it is not the custom of my kind to parade around unclothed before strangers," he shrugged. "Now that we are both bare as new-born babes, you will be too self-conscious to be staring."

"I have not been staring," Legolas was appalled and again was shocked by the deep, rolling laughter that issued from the man.

"Ai Elbereth, Legolas, I am but joking to lessen the discomfort of this situation. Do the woodland folk not make jests with one another?"

"Yes, of course, I just didn't realise you weren't being serious."

"So, you have memorised my heartbeat and could track me by scent, but my personality remains a mystery to you. How odd," mused Aragorn.

"Why is it odd?," demanded Legolas, very uncomfortable to be lying beneath this person's candid and intense inspection. "I just met you today." He shifted and tried to shield his genitals without making it appear that's what he was doing, which is of course impossible, and that just made it all the more embarrassing. He flushed in mortified anger. "And you are the one staring as though you've never seen a naked elf before. Again I question your claim to knowledge of the healing arts."

"Forgive me, I am sorry," Aragorn blushed himself to realise he truly had been staring. "I confess I have never beheld a naked Wood Elf and your form is different enough from what I have seen to be interesting. Now I know you are as cold as I so enough of this. Let us crawl to that warm burrow before I freeze. Are you ready?"

"Aye, but you will have to help. I cannot stand on my own."

"I don't think either of us can stand right now. When I said crawl, Legolas, I was being serious."

"Oh."

Never had such a short distance seemed so immense. While the pair did not really have to slither on their bellies like snakes, the best they could manage was a painfully slow knee-walk through the grass, each one gripping onto the other, Legolas' arm wrapped round Aragorn's waist since his shoulder was injured, Aragorn's arm secured round the Wood Elf's shoulder to prevent accidentally jostling the chest wound. Before they made it to the covered den, Legolas doubled over and vomited again. After recovering from that, the two crossed the last remaining bit of ground to reach the shelter and there halted.

"How," Legolas began to ask but had no breath to spare, struggling to inhale against the raging agony assailing his lungs. He thought the stitches had likely pulled loose but had no wish nor the energy to report this to Aragorn. He leaned limply against the man, arm falling away from its death grip.

"Hey!" Aragorn cried, suddenly feeling the elf collapse. Without thinking he raised his hand and slapped the pale cheek lolling against his shoulder. "Awaken, Legolas, for just a few moments more, mellon."

"Ai!" Legolas shook his head to clear it. "Youyou struck me!"

"Only to make you alert, not to hurt you," insisted the man. "You may hit me back if you wish."

"I will, too," mumbled Legolas but hadn't the strength to do it. "Hurts to breathe," he admitted faintly.

"Aye, this is more exertion than the wound can support. Now listen to me, Legolas. I am going in first for my weight is too much for your body to bear resting atop it. Then I will help pull you in and"

"Nay, an elf is much stronger than a man. I should go first and then you climb in after that."

Aragorn gazed at the slight elf and did not doubt Legolas was indeed the stronger of the two, but that had nothing to do with the troubles they faced. Deciding his companion was too near collapse to waste time arguing, Aragorn set him gently down and crawled under the wool covering and into the shallow hole. Reaching up, he grasped Legolas' arms and heaved him in, grunting when the lithe body flopped gracelessly atop him.

Legolas cried out sharply and thrashed against the sudden explosion of pain, unconsciously clinging to Aragorn as he tried to master the assault of anguish. He was drifting into oblivion and knew it, welcomed it. The last thing he thought was that this was a very good heart beneath his ear; rather furry, but trustworthy and strong.

Aragorn smiled and settled a hand on the head pillowed against his chest, knowing Legolas had no idea he had just spoken those thoughts aloud. He found he felt the same, save that Legolas was completely hairless. Despite the harrowing day, he considered the meeting a good thing and was glad for it. He ran his hand down the slight body, thankful for the second time the Wood Elf's density was so light. It was like a living swath of cashmere draped over his aching bones and posed no burden at all.

Warmth began quickly soothing Aragorn's weary muscles and he smiled, deciding this was an unusual but not an unwelcome sort of blanket. The fiery spirit of the First-born made them naturally hotter compared to humans and Legolas was no exception. The elf felt so cold because he was radiating away so much of this internal fire. Confined in the insulating earth, pressed against another body, the loss should subside and Legolas should likewise begin to respond.

They would both be helpless through the night with only the stalwart little mare standing guard somewhere out in the open prairie. Even so, Aragorn felt safe and hopeful, peaceful and content. He prayed to all the Powers on high to shield them from enemies and protect them from the elements. He added extra supplications to Estë to keep Legolas from bleeding to death and him from succumbing to infection. More than this he was too weary to manage and he soon joined Legolas in dreamless sleep.

TBC

Some Important Dates to Keep in Mind:  
taken from [Encyclopaedia of Arda](http://www.glyphweb.com/arda/default.asp)

  
 **2930**  
Birth of Denethor in Minas Tirith, later to become Steward Denethor II.  
 **2931**  
1 March Birth of Aragorn II Elessar.  
 **2941**  
Expulsion of the Necromancer from Dol Guldur by the White Council.  
October The Battle of Five Armies.  
 **2948**  
Birth of Théoden, later King of Rohan.  
 **2951**  
The Nazgûl are sent to reclaim Dol Guldur.  
 **2953**  
Death of Steward Turgon. He is succeeded by his son, Ecthelion II.  
Death of King Fengel of Rohan. He is succeeded by his son Thengel.  
 **2957**  
Aragorn enters the service of Thengel of Rohan, under the alias of Thorongil.  
 **2980**  
Death of King Thengel of Rohan. He is succeeded by his son Théoden.  
'Thorongil' (Aragorn) leaves the service of Gondor and travels into the east. 
  



	3. Diverted and Divided

#### Chapter Three: Diverted and Divided

"Aragorn! Ai, where is it? Where? Awake, Kâlro!"

"What?" Aragorn came to cognisance with a rude start, shoving hard against whatever was responsible for persistently jostling his shoulder. A low hiss followed this and he sat upright, peering into the darkness of the close space, disoriented by the smell of turned earth and green leaves around him. Why was he in this trench? Pressed against the side of the ditch a figure crouched and a wan face lifted so that impatient and weary eyes could chastise him. The man recalled everything in the next second and felt horrible; he'd just pushed the wounded elf roughly in the chest. Legolas had an arm wrapped around his bandaged body and was clearly in pain. "Ai, forgive me! You startled me and"

"No time!" Legolas groaned, scrambling to a tight crouch. "Where is my bow, mellon, where?"

"Your bow?" Aragorn's brow crinkled up as he remembered their flight from Rhovanion. "I'm sorry, but I could not carry it and you also. It lies where you dropped it."

"Dropped it?" Legolas' tone amply conveyed his outraged contempt. "No archer of Greenwood _ever_ drops a bow! I was felled whilst saving your neck, otherwise it would be here with me now."

"Of course," he said dryly, but curtailed his exasperation over Wood Elf pride as reason asserted itself. "Why? What is happening, Legolas?"

"Quiet!" Legolas whispered, low and harsh, daring a guarded peek beneath the flap of the blanket. "Wait here and be still," he commanded and darted out into the open.

Aragorn's brows rose, buoyed on a tide of indignant affront. That was not an order he was likely to obey, especially given the present circumstances, and when the well-known sound of his sword being drawn from its sheath reached his ears, he breathed a silent curse and roused himself. Cautiously he crawled out of the shallow hole and crept on hands and knees over the dew-damp plains, watching left and right for the sylvan, but Legolas had vanished. There could be but one cause for the elf to take his sword, but the sickly ellon couldn't possibly succeed against approaching enemies with an unfamiliar weapon, wounded and weary as he was. Besides, it was unacceptable to take another warrior's sword and leave him defenceless.

 _What can he be thinking? I must get back that blade if there is any hope for our survival._

He dared not cry out for fear of alerting whatever fiends were upon them. Yet, if it was men and not orcs, the worst thing that could happen would be for Legolas to attack them. The horse lords had little love for even the idea of elves; to find one charging at them, naked, glowing, and wielding so wicked a weapon, would hardly dispel their misgivings. He hunkered down and quickly pressed his ear against the chilly, wet ground, praying to detect the steady drumming of horse hooves despite his worries, but there were no discernible vibrations at all.

This both galvanised him and raised his state of alarm, escalating his urgency to locate the elf for it must be orcs on the prowl, hunting for them. He rose to a cramped crouch to scan the darkened plain again. At first there was nothing to see; then, a fleeting shadow appeared through the murky pre-dawn light and raced forward before disappearing, concealed in the tall stalks of rippling grass. It could only be the elf, though no tell-tale glimmer marked the shadow's motion. Aragorn bent lower, slinking in awkward speed toward that spot, mentally berating the sylvan for this faulty strategy, then wondering if Legolas thought him too ill to fight, which gave his ego a slight sting even as it bespoke compassion in the Wood Elf.

 _But nay, it must be madness, some effect of the poison distorting the ellon's reasoning. I must to stop him; I've gone to too much trouble to lose the Wood Elf now._

All this crowded his thoughts as he made for the last known position of the elf. Before he'd covered more than a couple of metres he halted, for his ears at last picked up what Legolas must have heard quite some time ago: the dull thudding tramp of ungainly orcish feet jogging over the earth, just north of his position.

 _No more than two, but that is two too many._

His heart rate doubled and he clenched his empty fists in frustration. What to do? The Ranger was not of a nature to sit and await his demise in hopeless resignation, but weaponless and so far from the elf, he was powerless to help. Even worse, it occurred to him the nasty creatures might have orders to capture the elf alive and haul him back to Dol Guldur. Why else would the orcs make such a difficult river crossing? If so, cowering in a hole in silence would secure Aragorn's safety and that at least explained Legolas' irrational actions. The archer would prefer death to imprisonment and torture in the Wraith's lair. The man was even less of a nature to permit such a sacrifice, nor to salvage his life by hiding from battle, but a solution did not accompany these considerations.

Now, much past the point of utility, the man remembered the sharp elvish dagger left behind at the shallow shelter. It was not much, but a worthy weapon nonetheless and to have forgotten its existence was incomprehensible. There was no other choice but to go back. With it he could probably kill at least one of the orcs before being cut down.

 _If I had not forgotten it, that would make the difference between joint survival and a gruesome death for us both._

He didn't have it; nothing could change that. Aragorn could not suppress a bitter influx of overwhelming disgust at his lack of common sense on this simple trip back to Eriador, but remonstrating himself was a fruitless waste of energy. He raced for the pit, stealth discarded, praying neither orc was an archer, determined to do whatever he could do, entrusting Legolas to fate and the mercy of the Powers, hoping he could dispense with at least one orc. He was almost to the trench when a strange sound caught his ear and brought him up short. He turned toward it.

It was a whirring noise, like an insect hum and a low growl combined, menace in it that told of deep hatred and warned of death. It sounded just once, quick and loud, and motion followed it. A blur, rather. A shifting expanse of darkness slightly less dismal than the surrounding plain arose from the ground and seemed to hover above the grass. Then a bright, argent flash glinted in the dusky dawn, the sheen of elf-light on steel, and a fierce and wild battle cry broke free. A thin, high, sweeping whine disturbed the air and was followed by a coarse shout, a heavy thud, and a foul curse in Black Speech.

Aragorn scarcely realised he was tearing toward the conflict. A tense moment passed as an orc bellowed out the grotesque things she planned to do to the elf when she caught him, her Sindarin broken and crude, fear in her croaking words. The spectre reappeared, arising from an entirely new position behind the second orc. Aragorn slid to a halt, staring at the unearthly apparition, for he'd never witnessed anything like this in all his days. Again the scything swish of air and a burst of brilliance heralded a disgusting, grinding, tearing collision of blade and flesh, the same ponderous thump resounded as a body hit the ground, and then silence.

Aragorn gaped in confusion at the scene of the ambush, unable to detect anything clearly in the hazy half-light. He wasn't sure what had just happened. Legolas had attacked, that much was evident, but the nature of the assault was completely without precedent in his experience. Had the elf survived?

 _Impossible._

There could be no doubt the orcs were dead. If not, they would be laughing and doing unspeakable things to the body of their vanquished foe. Yet there was no sound at all and it could only mean no one had survived. Aragorn felt awful; the archer had sacrificed himself to protect him. With a heavy heart he strode to the place, steps sluggish and lumbering, soul stricken, thinking with sorrow that the humble trench that had provided them shelter in the night would now serve as the Wood Elf's grave.

 _Deep I shall make it that no scavengers find him. Hallowed shall it be and I will return and erect atop it a fitting memorial to this fearless Wood Elf. Lorien and Imladris shall sing him lauds and honour the memory of Legolas of Greenwood._

So lost was he in regret and mourning that he actually trod roughly on Legolas' calf before realising it. The inanimate form jerked and issued a sharp groan even as Aragorn leaped away, stumbling over the corpse of one of the orcs and toppling to the ground. He found himself peering into the archer's intriguingly expressive eyes, the predominant emotion evident that of disgruntled aggravation overlain by pain, and was overwhelmed with joy.

"You're alive!" he cried, laughing as he sat up and reached for Legolas' shoulder, giving the skin a firm pat just to reassure himself it was the truth.

"Aye," Legolas answered, too exhausted to say more. He had not stirred and at once the smile vanished from the man's face.

"That was a foolhardy thing to do," he scolded, "though brave beyond telling. Are you hurt?" Of course he was hurt, but Aragorn needed to know where and how badly. Cautiously he began inspecting the motionless figure and turned Legolas on his back. That raised a quick gasp and a desolate moan. "It is the same wound," Aragorn said sternly. "You've pulled out all the stitching."

"Aye," Legolas managed, thinking this a terribly obvious diagnosis and wondering what sort of healer's skill the man truly possessed.

"Valar, what daft notion filled your head to try such a stunt?" the man demanded, unwrapping the soaked bandaging. "I would have done better with the sword. How you wielded it is beyond my comprehension; its weight is nearly equal to yours, if not heavier."

"You'd have got one orc," Legolas said faintly. "The other would've got you. Couldn't permit" At this point probing fingers found the injury and he could not suppress the sharp hiss of agony that touch elicited.

"It is bleeding freely," the man stated grimly. Carefully he gathered his patient up and trotted back to the covered hollow, laying the elf on the ground beside it. The sky was brighter now and he could see well enough to find his pack and supplies, but that success did not please him. There were no more clean bandages. Sighing, he hoped Legolas' natural resilience would defeat whatever dirt and grime clung to his cloak and ripped a length from the upper edge. From that he cut a small section, wadded it up, and pressed it hard against the wound, frowning as Legolas flinched beneath his hands and instinctively sought to get away.

"Nay, be still, mellon, and hold this against the tear." he reached for the archer's hand and placed it over the cloth. "Tightly," he urged and did not let go until he felt the pressure was sufficient to slow the flow of blood. "Good," he breathed out a relieved breath, glad Legolas was alert enough to obey, and used the rest of the cloth to bind the gash. "The fire's out, so I cannot seal the wound, and I don't think stitches will have much effect since you are too stubborn to follow a healer's advice, and it is too dark anyway." He glared reprovingly at the archer and received a brief, hurt look before Legolas turned his face away, hand resting carefully over the makeshift bandage.

"I want my clothes," Legolas murmured in plaintive tones.

"You shall have them, though what you would want them for, wet, foul, and cold as they are, I know not."

Aragorn rose and stomped not to the pile of discarded clothing but away to the scene of combat where he retrieved his sword. The sun was still not high enough to peer above Hithaeglir, but the night was finished and he could see the bodies of the orcs clearly. Each was beheaded. The head of one had detached and bounced a ways from the rest of the corpse, but the second was still partially connected to the stumpy neck and lay resting on the shoulder of its own body, an unsettling sight. Nonetheless, the strength required to achieve such mortal blows was not unknown to the man. Despite his admiration for Legolas, he shook his head and frowned; it would have been better to attack these enemies together or for him to have been the one to sally forth from the trench, given the elf's weakened condition.

 _Weakened condition?_

The idea was not entirely a surprise, for Aragorn had been sceptical of Legolas' boast, but while he hadn't expected the promised miraculous recovery by dawn neither had he expected the elf's condition to deteriorate. All indications the previous night had led him to believe healing was possible, and he was so immured in the myth and mystique of Wood Elf tenacity he'd assumed Legolas would overcome the poison. The next realisation involved his own injury and now the man could not fail to be astonished. His shoulder ached, a dull persistent throb, no more. It merely ached when it should have been flaring in raging agony if not beginning to fester. He was not hot with fever in the least bit nor was his body heavy with fatigue. He shifted the sword to the other hand and raised his arm, amazed when barely more than a twinge accompanied a move he could not make just hours ago. His eyes travelled to the silent elf resting on the ground and he jogged back quickly, coming to his knees beside the archer.

"What did you do?" he asked quietly. "My wound is nearly healed."

"You worsened; I thought death neared," Legolas said, still refusing to look at the man.

"Well, for someone in such danger, I feel remarkably renewed," Aragorn prompted gently and reached to turn the fair face to him. "How is it possible, Legolas? And what of your boast 'healed before dawn'?"

Now the blue eyes flashed in anger. "I was healed of the poison before dawn," he retorted. "The body will follow now that the toxin is vanquished."

"I see," Aragorn nodded, unconvinced. "You will not tell me what you did to change my condition so favourably?"

"No, rude, obnoxious man."

Another slicing glare pinned Aragorn before Legolas again turned his countenance away. The man gave himself a rueful smile, thinking how like the elves to have many names for a brave and courageous man but not a one for the opposite. He frowned and debated what to do for he felt his debt to the archer greatly compounded. Something had happened in the night but he had no memory of it. Still, the sylvan was right; whatever it was, Aragorn had plainly benefited and his only response had been criticism and irritation.

 _That is not how I was raised to behave._

"I owe you my life three times over, Legolas," he said, "and have yet to thank you once. Please, forgive this rude, obnoxious human. My mother would be mortified to know of my lapse in courtesy and I am shamed by it. I beg you will accept my gratitude and my service." He dipped his head and pressed his palm against his heart but Legolas wasn't watching and made no response at all. That was not because he was still offended, the man found, but because he'd lapsed back into healing slumber.

That was just as well for the man felt the need to move on deeper into the land of the horse lords and further from the river. It was his hope that Legolas would remain unconscious for a time and recoup his strength. The two beheaded orcs were likely advance scouts with the rest of the troop following a few hours behind. It was too much to hope the dead demons were the sole trackers and highly possible he and the sylvan would be embroiled in another fight before nightfall. Aragorn permitted himself another moment to ponder what Legolas had been doing so close to Dol Guldur but decided his questions could wait. Their freedom was paramount.

The doughty mare stood ready, alert and vigilant, ears and nostrils testing the air for any indications of danger, eyes glancing worriedly from the motionless elf on the ground to the man beside him. She gave a low whickering snort and eyed the man, her desire to flee plain as if she'd spoken aloud. Aragorn could not but agree with her desire to be underway. Hastily he donned his trousers, eschewing the tunic and shirt lest the cloying fabric hinder movement and aggravate the healing shoulder. He gathered up the elf's clothes, collected his few belongings, stuffed all into his pack, and secured that to the strapping round Tuilelindô's neck. The sight of the elf's small pack gave him pause and with a guilty glance over his shoulder to ensure those penetrating eyes were not upon him, he eased it open and peered inside.

 _It isn't prying; mayhap there is fresh bandaging and some way-bread._

The contents were few and included neither. There was a whetstone to keep his dagger sharp, an odd looking set of bone implements, a flint and striker, a few arrowheads. Something golden glinted in the bottom and Aragorn lifted out a small ring, a marriage band. It was too small to belong to Legolas and a thousand questions gathered in the man's head. He tipped it to see the inscription but there was none. Tuilelindô stamped, blew a windy remonstrance through her nostrils, and set the fine edge of her formidable incisors into Aragorn's shoulder. He grunted and winced, duly chastened, and closed up the pack, turning to gather up Legolas and heave him onto her back. Instantly the archer woke, a sharp gasp of pain fleeing his lungs before he could control it. Tortured eyes met the man's.

"I am truly sorry," Aragorn kept a hand on the rigid body to steady the elf, "for many things, but we must move from here. Those orcs were likely the scouts for a larger troop." A brief nod came in answer and then Legolas reposed against the mare's neck, one hand fisting her thick mane, the other disappearing beneath him to cradle the injury. Aragorn climbed up behind him and as soon as he settled the horse turned west by south, heading toward Fangorn. He clucked and clicked and cajoled and used pressure from his knees to adjust her course without effect. "Nay, we must travel further into the plains," he said aloud and then gently tapped Legolas' back. "Mellon, instruct your fine steed. We must not wander in the ancient forest now; there is no help for us there."

"Nay, I must rest; she knows this. Fangorn is safe."

"Legolas, I know you need healing sleep but that is not the place for it. What if you worsen?"

"What of it? Can you do more for me in the land of these horse-slavers? Nay, for you can do nothing."

 _Horse-slavers?_ The invective was unexpected and Aragorn wondered if perhaps the Rohirims' uneasiness with elves had a basis in truth after all. As for the rest, it stung his pride but he could not refute it. Still, Fangorn was not a place he wished to visit and would feel easier in even the crudest of human homesteads. Already the mare had brought them near enough to mark individual trees and their dark, gnarled branches. "We may be happy for the lances and swift chargers of the horse lords if those orcs were but the advance of the hunters."

"They were running in terror," Legolas countered, voice low and filled with ragged exhaustion, "and had been running long, from Rohan and not from the river. Battle they had seen and were not the scouts but straggling deserters. They were fleeing your horse-lords and were drained and weary from the chase. Otherwise, I might not have killed them so easily."

"What would the orcs of Dol Guldur be doing in Rohan?"

"Why do you think they were from Dol Guldur?" Legolas asked darkly, pausing to breathe, his respiration audible and wet, his body shuddering violently. "There is more than one black tower in the lands."

"What do you mean? Were they from Mordor?" Aragorn tried to recall what gear the vile creatures wore and gave thought to returning to the corpses to check, but instinct warned him not to waste time. To his query Legolas remained silent and the man laid a comforting hand on the trembling back, noting something the dark had hidden from him before. He drew a short breath of dismay; beneath his fingers were the faint traces of yellow and green stripes indicative of a severe lashing. It seemed obvious now what the elf had been doing so near to the Wrath's lair and the man was moved to pity.

All this time the mare had been trotting steadily toward the forest, but now she balked and came to a halt, head up, ears forward, nostrils flared. A second passed as she assessed the region ahead and then she backed and spun, leaping into a gallop that tested her riders' skill in equitation. Four hands snatched at her flying mane, four legs gripped round her girth with frantic strain as the man bellowed some incoherent shout and her master groaned in misery. Away she bounded, rightly thinking her speed was the only weapon that might save them as behind came the distant noise of thundering feet and pounding hooves. Her lead was enough, though surely she was spotted, and in time the rumbling agitation diminished, but not before Aragorn looked over his shoulder and saw that Legolas was right. A small troop of horsemen, spears glinting bright, ran down a pack of orcs in rout.

At once he both grinned and scowled, thinking these were men with which he would wish to ally himself, yet unable to convince the valiant steed to slow down or reverse her headlong flight. The forest loomed and Aragorn gave up, hoping instead that the horsemen had seen them and would follow. He heard Legolas murmur a few words in his peculiar variety of elvish that reduced Tuilelindô to a steady trot. Another jarring shudder worked through him and the man began to fear this could be the onset of a fresh round of seizures and vomiting. All their water was gone and Aragorn worried whether the Rohirrim would enter the forbidding woods at all. Hating to disturb his limp and trembling companion slumped against the mare's neck, he shook the bare shoulder apologetically.

"Legolas, mellon, instruct Tuilelindô to stop. We need water and food; the horse-lords will aid us," he said.

"Ai, let her be," Legolas mumbled, voice distorted in pain and drained of energy. "Trust her." More he could not manage and indeed was on the brink of oblivion, eager to topple into the silent black well. He registered the point at which the trees engulfed them and gratefully permitted unconsciousness to claim him.

Aragorn watched the gloomy landscape reaching out to capture his small party, actually cringing back and yanking on the mare's mane in a vain attempt to avoid the inevitable. The first trees were passed and he felt a keen sense of hostility beamed their way, a tension in the stagnant air that raised the hairs on his arms and neck much as the energy of an approaching storm would do. They were trespassers in the ancient forest and he could only hope the presence of an elf would shield them from the dangers rumoured to lurk under the massive, dark, and twisted trees.

TBC


	4. Soul Light

#### Chapter Four: Soul Light

The sunlight vanished as they were swallowed in the ever-present shadows of ancient trees, the limbs and roots and trunks so twisted and gnarled that Aragorn wondered if they had been growing since the very beginnings of Arda, planted by the goddess' own hands. Fangorn did not feel like a holy place, though, and he had the definite sensation of having been noticed, identified, and categorised as an unwelcome interloper. One heard rumours about Fangorn but little one could account truth. Even the folk of Lorien were reticent on the topic of what lived in the dense forest, and their silence was fraught with uneasiness as much as respect for whatever ancient power protected the place. That elves did not call it home was telling: they considered it someone else's home.

Aragorn had little time to stew over it for just then Legolas gave a violent jerk, stiffening and rearing back so abruptly that his head struck Aragorn's chin. Sparks flew before the man's eyes and when they cleared both he and the elf were on the ground, he flat on his back with Legolas sprawled in twitching agony over his chest. Another seizure had commenced and the concerned healer had all he could do to hold onto the convulsing archer. Ignoring the dull throb at his jaw, Aragorn held him as still as he was able, worried anew about the possibility of a bite through the tongue. He groped with his fingers and found the jaws clenched tight, but no warm wet liquid oozed between the compressed lips. Relieved, he absently caressed the smooth, taut skin and cupped the narrow chin in a compassionate grip.

"Sîdh, mellon, Im na sí; le gerin. Ha thinnatha," he murmured. (Peace, friend, I am here; I have you. It will fade.)

In minutes it passed and Legolas lay limp, groaning between mighty gulps of air, and Aragorn could feel his muscles quivering in the aftermath of the spasm. He had no need to seek for the pulse at the neck; Legolas' racing heart resounded through him and the man thought he could actually feel each contraction where their bodies were pressed together. Aragorn moved his hand from chin to neck anyway and settled his palm protectively against the elf's larynx. He could not see much through the tangle of hair strewn across his face, but noted the softness of its silky texture, the weight and lustre of the golden mane, the provocative way the shape of an ear was defined by the style in which Legolas dressed the locks.

Such distinct braids must mark either Legolas' rank among the King's warriors, or perhaps his clan. Cautiously, Aragorn let his fingers run along one of those fine plaits. Legolas grew still and his pulse calmed; either he did not mind the touch or he was suffering too much to acknowledge it. He inhaled a deeper, steadier breath and Aragorn felt him swallow.

"Kalrô," he said, and now it was Aragorn who stilled, hearing something in the word that bordered on desperation but with an ardent undertone, limned with emotion that struck a resonating chord deep in the man's being. "Kalrô," Legolas repeated, the word barely a whisper in the stagnant air, and shivered, swallowing again.

"Im na sí; le gerin." (I am here; I have you.)

"Adanno calad enni. Boe gerin nín galfaer adonen." (Return the light to me. I need my soul-light returned.)

"Galfaer?" Aragorn repeated, confused. "Úchenion." (Soul-light? I do not understand.) He shifted so to crane his head forward in an attempt to catch the Wood Elf's eye, worried he might be slipping into another bout of delirium.

Legolas sucked in another breath that preceded a complaining moan and began to stir, seeking to roll to his side and off the man. A cramp gripped his gut and he realised he was about to expel more of the putrid efflux from the poison. "Ai! Nay, nay, not again," he ground out, struggling to subdue the urge to vomit as he threw himself sideways and found he was trapped in the man's embracing arms. "Aragorn!" There was nothing sentimental in his speech now.

Aragorn twisted with him, holding Legolas as gently round the chest as he could, and lay spooned against the rigid back. He gathered up the lengthy blond tresses just in time as the grotesque and noisome black fluid surged out. The elf's hand slid to the man's arm and grabbed on tight as he retched, shaken with the violent expulsion, his noisy gagging and the foul, pungent odour enough to make the man feel a sympathetic urge to regurgitate. He suppressed the need through sheer force of will and continued to offer reassurances. Like the fit, this episode of sickness passed quickly. Legolas cursed and squirmed in revulsion, his senses assailed by the unbearable stench, his pride offended by the involuntary purging.

"Nestegi! (Fuck) Ai, let me go; please, I cannot endure this," he growled, gagging from the smell. "Let me free, echil!" (human)

"All right, stop struggling and let me help." Aragorn gathered his knees beneath him and hauled Legolas backwards, pulling him half upright but keeping a firm hold on him, arm securely wrapped across his sternum, not sure he truly had strength to sit unaided. He made sure there was a good metre between them and the puddle of black serum seeping into the soil. "Wonder what the trees will make of that," he murmured, trying to lighten the mood, and bent forward to offer his patient a kindly smile.

"Valar!" Legolas seethed. "They are already displeased with our trespass; who knows how they'll interpret that disgusting mess." He slid his eyes sideways to meet the man's and could not suppress the grin that broke free, seeing Aragorn's, but he tried. "It is not amusing."

"Am I laughing?"

"You are smiling, almost as bad."

"So are you."

"I am entitled; I'm the one who is sick. And I still owe you for that blow last night."

"Aye, to none of that will I argue," said Aragorn, serious again and surprised to hear Legolas name himself ill. _Either he trusts me more or he is so bad off he cannot afford the pretensions of pride._ He hoped it was the former. "How are you, really?"

"Weary," Legolas admitted. "There is pain and heat around the wound, spreading. I want my clothes and I need to rest, but the forest does not welcome us." He did not explain that it was Aragorn to whom the trees objected.

"I was not the one who insisted on taking refuge in Fangorn." Aragorn felt a twinge of conscious over the garments, but he hadn't had a chance as yet to see to his patient's desire for modesty. "Those horsemen would be of greater aid to us, Legolas, than these trees. The herbs I carry with me are not indicated to treat poisoning such as yours. Cures for illness, infections common to humans, yes, and antiseptics to cleanse wounds I have. The men of Rohan may have a remedy for this toxin and surely we can both rest easier under the protection of so many warriors."

Legolas did not reply and Aragorn felt him slump in his arms, realising with dismay that he was unconscious again. "Mellon?" There was no answer and he hurriedly shifted the elf to lie flat on the mossy ground, troubled to see the blue eyes fully closed and the chest wound oozing a black and yellow discharge. The atrocious smell, he discovered, was not all from the regurgitated mass congealing in the duff. Legolas was not healing as he should and the man was disturbed by his mysterious reference to soul-light.

 _How can I give him elvish light?_

He shook his head and automatically checked the warrior's vital signs, frowning over the irregular pulse and the fact that the eyes were rolled back, only the whites visible. His training told him the wound would need to be opened, the diseased tissue cut out, the gouge drained, perhaps cauterised, packed, and rebound. What to use for bandaging he had not determined; his shirt most likely. Legolas' was not fit for anything but the bonfire. He wondered if he might find athelas in the forest; the climate was warm and damp enough for the plant. An infusion of the herb might retard the poison's advance. As he considered all this, Aragorn gathered Legolas up as gently as he knew how and deposited him on Tuilelindô's back. There was no reaction at all and while he had no wish for Legolas to suffer, it was not a positive sign.

"What we need is a place with clean water," he told the horse, "and if there is some sunlight, too, it would make searching for herbs the easier." He gathered a handful of mane preparatory to mounting up but sounds behind him belayed the action. Aragorn turned to see one of the Rohirrim approaching through the trees on horseback, lance held at the ready. Their eyes met and the warrior reigned back his steed.

In silence they regarded one another, each taking the other's measure, and Aragorn found himself facing cool hazel eyes beneath a helm of iron crafted in the style of an equine head, a grimly set mouth nestled within a richly auburn beard, the nose protected behind a shielding plate. The man sat tall and proud in his saddle, one hand wrapped in the leather leads, long, booted legs gripping the sides of his war horse, feet steady in the stirrups, radiating intense wariness and ready to fight. His stern gaze flickered to the naked elf draped over Tuilelindô's withers and the mouth pulled into a tighter grimace of disapproval. Narrowed and accusing, the eyes came back to Aragorn's blazing.

"Stand away from her, trespasser, or you'll pay with your life," he growled darkly, adjusting his grip on the lance.

"I mean no harm here," Aragorn raised his hands in front of him, well away from the hilt of his sword, as he took two careful steps back from the mare. "I need your help, friend. I am known in Edoras, a friend and ally of Thengel King until his passing."

"Your definition of harm is perhaps not the same as mine," remarked the horseman, again passing his eye over the nude body of the elf, lingering over the crude bandage circling the torso. He used the lance to point. "Your victim might share my notion of the word. Be she dead or alive?"

Aragorn startled, unprepared to hear either this accusation levelled at him or the inaccurate reference to the sex of the incapacitated elf. "Nay! He lives, I assure you, but his wounds are serious and not given by me. We have fought orcs, greatly outnumbered, yesterday and again at"

"He?" scoffed the horseman. "If so then he is but a youth. Stay where you are." He dismounted and approached the mare, bearing the lance at the ready so that Aragorn backed further, his worried gaze alternating between Legolas and the man. "What proof can you offer that your words are truth?" demanded the horseman, but then he gave a cry of surprise and fear, having drawn close enough to see the pointed ear. "An elf! A Wood Elf!" He raised his free hand in a warding sign and fell back a pace.

"Aye, he is from Mirkwood and his words will substantiate mine, since you have need of such assurance. You need not fear him." Aragorn was not happy to see the man's superstitions at full force and Legolas' concerns verified.

"How came you to bring it here? We do not want them in our lands, no matter if it is your slave. That, also, is not condoned by our laws. You must leave and take it away with you at once!"

" _He_ is not a slave; why would you assume this? I would never try to hold bound in captivity one of the First-born," announced Aragorn, indignant. "I told you; I am a friend of Rohan and of Thengel King. Just days ago I passed through the Gap and spoke with Eádmar"

"Give me your name, then," the horseman interrupted irritably, his expression filled with doubt and misgivings as again he graced the unconscious elf with wary scrutiny.

"I am known here in Rohan and in Gondor," said Aragorn, standing taller and letting his attitude announce his displeasure with the horseman's manner. "Mayhap you have heard the name Thorongil?" He propped his fists on his hips and glared, fully expecting a respectful apology. The man's eyes grew wide and his sight travelled up and down Aragorn's person, taking in his filthy, half-dressed state before darting back to the unclothed, insensible elf. He did not proffer his regrets or beg pardon for his suspicions.

"Lord Thorongil is indeed known to the people of Rohan. He is a noble man, a doughty warrior with the bearing of the Numenoreans of old, it is said, and has served in the White City these many years. Though I have not met him personally, you do not fit the descriptions I have heard."

"I am he nonetheless," sighed Aragorn, rubbing his forehead. "Not even a King comes away from battle with his robes unsullied by the grime and gore of war."

"Perhaps, yet neither is it common to come from battle naked, or nearly so. I do not believe you."

"A man, or even an elf, may indeed come from battle naked if there are injuries to tend," countered Aragorn irritably. He felt Legolas' life dwindling as they argued; this sort of problem could be fatal for the Wood Elf. "His wounds are serious and I am trying to heal him; that is why I asked your help. Put aside your fears and suspicions; we are no threat to you or to Rohan."

"Indeed, one man alone is no threat to even a child of Rohan," boasted the man. "Maybe you caused his hurts. Yon Wood Elf is your prisoner, taken in this skirmish you mention, and you have done as the uncouth and unjust will do with prisonersraped him to satisfy your lust." The spear came level with Aragorn's heart again. "Even a Wood Elf does not deserve to be abused in that manner. We have laws here in Rohan to punish brutes such as you." He gave a shrill whistle and waggled the lance. "Move aside there and lay down your weapon," he ordered.

"I have not done such an unspeakable thing to him," insisted Aragorn as he obeyed, reluctantly settling his broadsword on the mossy turf. "Legolas will vouch for me when he regains consciousness, but he is in danger of dying if something isn't done quickly. He is naked, and myself half-naked, only because we were drenched in the river and subject to the chill night air. I made a burrow and in it we crept, lying skin to skin to preserve body heat and forestall death."

"So you say," replied the horseman drily. He was joined by two comrades who took in the scene with inscrutable faces, waiting for their leader to explain. "This man claims to be Thorongil and names the elf his companion, but until his story is confirmed we must keep them under guard. Gather his weapons."

The men nodded and did as told, taking Aragorn's sword and the elvish dagger he'd kept. They searched his pack and spilled the contents out upon the forest floor. Even Legolas' quiver of arrows was taken away, though they avoided touching him and made their sign of protection to guard against spells and enchantment. Aragorn wondered whose providence they were beseeching. They tried to get to the elf's pack, too, but Tuilelindô would not permit them near her, though she did not go far enough to be out of sight of her master. Finally, the three Rohirric warriors stood glaring at Aragorn expectantly as though to indicate he should call the mare to him.

"She is not mine," he shrugged, "but Legolas'. If she stays away it is because she knows you fear her master. She does not trust you."

"We do not fear him," insisted the leader.

"Right," said Aragorn wryly. He looked from one to the other of them impatiently. "So we are now your captives. Fine. What do you plan to do, stand by and watch as he fades before your eyes? I must have help for Legolas; his death will be on your heads if you hinder me. I doubt the Wood Elves would be pleased if one of their own expires in Rohan."

"Nay, we are in Fangorn," the leader argued, "and the Woodland King cannot hold us responsible for something you have done. Indeed, we will deliver you to him to answer for your crimes."

"This is intolerable!" fumed Aragorn. "I have not met the Elf King, but by all accounts he is a formidable foe and no fool. Aye, I will go to him gladly and explain how one of his warriors risked all to save my hide, even to taking an arrow from an Uruk archer. I will tell him of Legolas' valour and then reveal how your over-zealous desire to render justice resulted in the elf's death. He will hear the truth of my words and see what your pride and posturing have wrought, and Legolas' kin are certain to want revenge. You'll have war with Mirkwood then. Have you ever seen Wood Elves in battle? it is said they are the fiercest of the First-born. Speak your name that I may report it to your King when he wants to know who brought his nation into such a bloody feud with the sylvan folk," demanded Aragorn.

Well, it was a compelling scenario to say the least. There was a strained silence as the Rohirrim wavered between wrath to be so taken to task and apprehension that they had made a huge mistake.

"I have no love for Wood Elves, yet also no wish for this one to die," ventured the captain, scowling. He cleared his throat awkwardly and lowered his lance slightly. "Do you know anything about curing the fair folk?"

"Some," Aragorn nodded. "I was trained by no less a person than Lord Elrond of Rivendell. You have heard of the elven folk of Imladris?"

"We have," the man admitted, beginning to believe he had been precipitous in his evaluation of the situation. Still, he was a cautious man and would not be duped. He motioned to Legolas. "We will suspend our charges until he is either dead or strong enough to ride. At that time, I will bring you to Edoras where the new King awaits his crowning. If you are Thorongil, many there will know you on sight."

"Good," sighed Aragorn and let his grimace soften. That this man wanted to do right he did not doubt; he was simply misguided. "Now, I am in need of fresh water and was about to have this mare lead me to it, unless you are familiar with Fangorn and can tell which way to go."

"Nay, we do not venture far into Fangorn, only to run down orcs who try to hide here. They fear to go deep beneath the trees. Let the horse guide us."

"So be it. Now give me your name and if you have any medical supplied I would be most grateful to have them."

"I am Selwyn, Sheriff of the East Wold. Mine is the responsibility for the crofts and the herds here. I must be leery of strangers, for there has been trouble from outlanders posing as traders from Rohan. They are slavers, selling their captives to Mordor, we suspect. To make their ruse believable, and to increase their profits, they steal from our herds." He bowed his head, all the apology he was able to offer, and signalled his guards to lower their weapons. Just like that the enmity dissolved and all were at ease, or as much so as men could be in such an ancient and perilous place as Fangorn. Selwyn went to his horse and delved into his saddlebag, proffering Aragorn a kit of field dressings and medicinal herbs. "You are welcome to what we have."

He took it with deep thanks, but before anyone could say more Legolas began to regain his senses, the poison assailing him anew. A low groan escaped him and he slid an arm around his middle, shaking visibly. Aragorn was at his side at once, steadying him and speaking softly.

"Mellon, can you hear me?" Legolas only gave a violent shudder, gripped with convulsions so that Aragorn had to bring him down again to lie upon the moss, holding him as the spasm ran its course. When it was done he lay panting, clutching tight to Aragorn, eyes locked on the man's.

"Faerlim (soul-light), please, Kalrô. I cannot recover" The need to expel the bitter fluids from his stomach interrupted this plea. When he was done, Legolas was unconscious again and Aragorn became alarmed.

"Legolas, mellon, you must not give in!" he exhorted, gently shaking the lax body. There was no response. Frantic, he laid Legolas down and arose, advancing on Selwyn, who stood aghast with his hand clamped over nose and mouth, vision glued to the still form coated with reeking, gelatinous vomit. "Now you understand how greatly he suffers. Have you a water skin to spare me and would you have your men kindle fire? I must cleanse that wound now."

"I see," nodded Selwyn. "He suffers, but not for much longer. That is a dead elf, my friend; poison takes him."

"No," said Aragorn obstinately, lifting his hand and pointing at the Sheriff. "Poison it is, but he still lives and I intend he should continue doing just that until all of time expires and you and I have long been dust."

So vehement were his words and so intense his expression that none could doubt he truly meant it. His dedication to the sickly elf could not be gainsaid. Selwyn ordered his men to comply with Aragorn's request.

"Selwyn!" cried one, astonished. "We should just bind them both and take them to the borders, drop them there. Let the people of Lorien give them shelter and aid."

Now, this was not a plan Aragorn would oppose, except for being bound, yet he feared Legolas would die on the way. Even as he opened his mouth to protest, Legolas returned to awareness, again struggling with the torment of the poison coursing through him. Aragorn knelt beside him and gathered him close, supporting him through the throes of the convulsions and the vomiting that followed. The archer exhaled a weary cry and reached up a shaking hand to touch Aragorn's face.

"Why do you refuse? I ask only what I gave to you. Please, I do not want to die here; I must get home."

"Ai, mellon, I would not refuse you aid," insisted Aragorn, greatly distressed by this charge. "Tell me what to do and it shall be done. How do I defeat this poison? What did you do to me in the burrow at night?"

"Shared light, strengthened you," mumbled Legolas. "Need it back now, please."

Uncomprehending, Aragorn shook his head. "How? I am but a man, Legolas. Mayhap Lord Elrond or the Lady Galadriel could give you light, but I have none to give."

"You have elvish blood," stated Legolas and his hand slid down to reside against Aragorn's heart. "Healing is in your hands. Touch me, Kalrô." With effort he gathered Aragorn's hands and drew them to his breast, pressing them against his chest above his heart. "Touch me." The whispered words accompanied the action of dragging the man's hands over his body and down to his groin, then back to his chest. Carefully, he settled one palm over the nasty wound and made the other describe a tender caress from crotch to pectorals and back. "Thus. Healing is in your hands if you will freely give."

Aragorn had never heard of healing of this nature, and was nearly desperate enough to try anything, but his reason warned that what was needed was irrigation and sterilisation of the wound. Legolas was failing and feverish, no doubt this request was the result of rising delirium. Even so, Aragorn complied with his patient's request for a few minutes, noting that the connection calmed Legolas considerably. An easier breath came and went form the elf's lungs and his eyes blinked open and locked with Aragorn's. A faint smile lit his eyes.

"Aye, like that. Give," he encouraged.

"I would give whatever you need," affirmed Aragorn, "but what you need is to have the injury opened and thoroughly cleaned. I must remove the putrid flesh, mellon, if there is to be any chance at all."

"Nay, just light, that is all I need," insisted Legolas. "Wood Elf," he reminded.

In spite of the seriousness of the moment, Aragorn had to smile. There was certainly no harm in the calming massage and he had observed Elrond use touch to cure. Granted, the Elf Lord held the power of Vilya, but there were many mysteries yet in the world and the workings of the elvish body retained a considerable number of them. He continued the gentle caress, raising his eyes to Selwyn. "The fire and the water, friend, I still need them."

"I understand, but this is Fangorn," said Selwyn. "I am sure flames are not welcome here."

"Normally, I would agree, but the fire is necessary to heal the elf. The trees will know and allow it; they have great love for Wood Elves." Aragorn hoped he was correct and looked to Legolas for confirmation, but he would only offer a half shrug.

While the Rohirrim gathered dead wood and dug a small pit, Aragorn concentrated on soothing his hands as gently as possible over Legolas' torso. He drew him fully into his lap so to be ready for the next seizure when it accosted the archer, but minutes passed and none came. Silently he prayed to Estë: _If there is any power of healing in my hands, teach me how to give it freely now._

Whether it was purely due to Legolas' belief in the cure or through something real passing between them, the tension left his body as the pain visibly lessened. His pulse became steady and even, matching the tempo of the man's. He reached up, a serene smile on his face, and entwined his fingers in Aragorn's hair, pulling. Slowly the man leaned closer, thinking the Wood Elf had words to speak and wanted only the two of them to hear. He turned so that his ear was near the parted lips, but Legolas used his hold to twist him abruptly back. Blue eyes met his and then their mouths were pressed firmly together, Legolas inhaling the very breath from the man's lungs so that Aragorn was frightened and retreated from the unexpected kiss.

"There," Legolas whispered across the minimal space between their lips, eyes shining with warmth. He exhaled a contented breath, snuggled up against Aragorn's chest, and retreated into healing repose.

Aragorn leaned aside and judiciously spat, for the Wood Elf's mouth unfortunately retained the flavour of the vile sputum he had recently disgorged. A loud, exaggerated bit of throat clearing garnered his attention and he looked up to see the men of Rohan gazing everywhere but at them, faces stained crimson.

"We'll wait over there," announced Selwyn to the net of branches above his head, "while you 'treat' him."

"Nay, that is not necessary," explained Aragorn, trying not to smile over their shocked sensibilities. "We are not lovers, and he is sleeping now anyway. You may look me in the face, Selwyn, without fear of seeing anything private."

"As you wish," the man said, but when he looked it was first at Legolas. Then his gaze met Aragorn's and he raised an admonishing brow. "We are not children; you need not hide your relationship."

"There is no relationship," insisted Aragorn. "We met two days ago."

"Of course, as you say." Selwyn nodded vigourously, his incredulous eyes sharing his disbelief with his men. He settled his forefinger against the side of his nose. "We will not say anything different if that is what you wish." The two soldiers were grinning broadly at Aragorn now and one laughed.

"Wouldn't have thought of that," he said. "Maybe those sylvans are useful for something after all."

"That's enough of that," barked Aragorn, face dark with displeasure. "He is not my slave and not my lover. He is my friend. If a kiss cured him, I am happy to see it happen but there is nothing more in it. An immortal's heart is too giving to love a mortal; they cannot survive the grief of parting and that parting must one day come to pass."

"No offence was intended," muttered the guard sullenly and he passed an unseemly leer over the naked body in Aragorn's lap. "He's your 'friend'; so be it. I'm not one to get between 'friends' anyway."

Aragorn inhaled and exhaled loudly through his nostrils, sending Selwyn a pointed glare. The Sheriff admonished his men sternly and sent the one with the loose tongue back to report on the situation to the remainder of the troop waiting in the Wold. He built the fire himself with great care, setting it within the deeply scoured pit for there were no stones of substantial size to ring the flames. He took a small kettle from his gear and arranged a tripod of sticks over the fire, and using these began to heat water. No more was said about the intimate embrace between man and elf. They were all too concerned with how Fangorn would react to the presence of the crackling blaze.

TBC


	5. Rumours and Lies

#### Chapter Five: Rumours and Lies

It could not be denied, Aragorn thought, that the elf looked less like a corpse and more like the figure of grace, beauty, and strength he was; less like a warrior dying of his wounds and more a fair, young ellon quiescent in repose. He looked, the man decided, innocent and rather vulnerable, inspiring the desire to protect and nurture him that currently filled his heart. Aragorn had never felt the sensation this strongly, though his gift for healing frequently engaged his compassion, centred as it was around the need to give succour and end suffering. Of course, he shared a more intense link with the Wood Elf than with most patients, the bond of life over death, and this must surely explain the depth of feeling growing within him.

 _Mayhap this exchange of light is a real phenomenon._

If so, what were the implications for him, having received some portion of the ellon's unusual power? Why had Elrond failed to instruct him in the technique and any possible repercussions? Perhaps it was particular to Wood Elves. He checked his patient over one more time. Legolas' vital signs were more stable, heart and breathing nearly normal; the fever appeared to have vanished; the disgusting ooze of yellowish pus was drying up. It pleased him to believe the brief massage and the stolen kiss had instilled energy sufficient to bring about such positive change. Naturally, his clinical treatment had not been without benefit.

Aragorn had cleaned off the poison's residue and carefully irrigated the nasty arrow-hole, surprised to find the tissue more wholesome when he did, the putrid odour diminishing as the diseased flesh easily sloughed off under the laving. The rent in the lung itself was sealed and elsewhere bright and clean blood spilled from the gash. The Ranger carefully packed and rebound the injury in clean bandaging and moved Legolas to lie upon a blanket supplied by Selwyn. While there was insufficient water to wash the long, yellow mane, its mangled state did not detract from Legolas' natural splendour, especially since he was unclothed and fully revealed, a well-shaped and rightly proportioned form that as nearly personified perfection as any ellon Aragorn had ever seen. He smiled and ran a hand through the tangled tresses.

 _Not so tall nor so formidable in aspect as Glorfindel, but just as magnificent in his own way. Nor is he as solidly noble and regal as my brothers, yet there is an air about him of wild gentility, if such is the right word to use. Here is a natural, unspoiled soul with raw vigour that bespeaks both ferocity and uncompromising valour._

It was not strange to him to sense these qualities bound up within a physique as refined as that of a dancer, with features of such elegance to rival the Lady Galadriel. It was widely held that all the First-born are beautiful and as compared to other races this was true. Compared against one another, as Aragorn had been granted much leisure to do over his growing years, there was definitely a spectrum of refinement within which distinct individuals must fall, ranging from merely pleasant regularity of features to superlative, breath-stealing magnificence. Legolas definitely occupied the exalted end of this scale.

"He is fair, but not what I expected in a sylvan warrior," Selwyn interrupted Aragorn's silent appraisal by indicating he had been engaged in much the same mental activity. "Stories say they are tall, imposing people with great strength of body and an even mightier gaze. I thought him a maid, for males are seldom sodelicate in form."

"Aye, he is pleasant to behold," agreed Aragorn, smiling over his shoulder, "but do not let the comely face and lithe body deceive you. This elf could easily defeat either one of us, or even both at once, if he was well and whole."

"Yes, even a snake can be beautiful while still being poisonous," Selwyn gave a sour grimace as he eyed the unconscious figure.

"And, like a snake, acts only according to his nature: without malice. Unlike a snake, this elf is capable of sacrifice and courageous action when doing nothing would have prevented the injury you see," Aragorn lectured. "Why is there such apprehension for the First-born among the Rohirrim?"

"We are not fearful of the fair folk," insisted Selwyn. "Rohan and Lothlorien occasionally engage in trade and exchange information pertinent to both countries' welfare, when need demands. The folk of the Golden Wood are perilous but righteous. Likewise, we know of the High Elves of Imladris and the legends of the great deeds those people made in times long past. Wood Elves are another breed altogether. They are treacherous and cunning, adept in black arts and sorcery; some say it is they who have brought the darkening of Mirkwood."

"Some say lies," retorted Aragorn. "None of the Wood Elves are known to be evil, Selwyn. They keep to themselves. Never have I heard of them making war with anyone, unless it is Orcs, and thus to defend their people and their country is no less than their right and duty. Would you do anything less for Rohan?"

"Of course not!" snapped Selwyn. "Yet, your view of these sylvans is as once we believed, also. Maybe once they were like other elves, but in these days the Wood Elves have become malicious, indeed."

"How so?"

"In short, some of the herders wanted to expand trade and rather than attempt taking the horses over the mountains, our contacts in Lorien suggested we go to Mirkwood and speak with the King. We were promised word would be sent ahead from the Galadhrim, an introduction of sorts. A small group of herders then set out and of the ten men and twenty horses, only two men returned. They had been taken captive and interrogated, claiming the Elves were trying to steal their souls right out of them. They say Wood Elves attacked and killed the rest of the party and the horses were scattered."

"That cannot be true," Aragorn blurted out. "If warfare broke out, there had to be a reason."

"Aye, that being their wish to take the horses and enchant our men, so to have spies here in Rohan when they were released."

"Why would the woodland folk want to do this? They have no need to steal when they keep horses of their own. This notion of enchantment is understandable but incorrect. As you remarked, the gaze of elvish eyes can be strong enough to terrify, but the power of the First-born to see into men's hearts does not include capturing the soul." It was obvious to Aragorn that the Wood Elves had been attempting to get at the truth. As to the ambush, he could not credit it.

"They kept the horses; none have the like of ours, not even elves," Selwyn said proudly. "What you say about sorcery I can aver when speaking of other folk, but Wood Elves are not like other Elves. Besides, we believe it was done to teach us a lesson: disturb the folk of Mirkwood at peril of life and limb. Rohan lost eight good men to sylvan arrows."

"Yet, for warning they could simply refuse the trading party, turning the herdsmen away at the borders. It does not make sense, Selwyn," Aragorn argued, absolutely certain the story must be false. He had heard and read of the efforts of the Wood Elves in the Last Alliance, and by all accounts King Thranduil was neither cowardly nor devious.

"There are any number of things they might have done," rejoined Selwyn. "The fact is they chose aggression against a peaceful trading party. We are not strong enough to challenge them else the two countries would be at war." He did not add that some people feared the Elven King wanted the lush grasslands of Rohan for his own, weary of his dreary wood.

"Those are grave words," intoned Aragorn.

"They are and I will not argue them with you further. I have said I have no wish for the elf to die here and now you understand why. Your depiction of his folk coming to Rohan for revenge is one I do fear. Beyond that, I am not one to hold every Wood Elf to account for what may have been the deeds of a few."

"Then there is doubt in your thoughts, at least." Aragorn was glad to know it and smiled. "I am certain we can discover what really happened. Perhaps Legolas knows something of it."

"Perhaps so." The Sheriff of the East Wold sighed, looking up and out into the ancient trees, exuding an uncommon combination of intrepid uneasiness. He'd sent his one remaining comrade to walk a perimeter and ensure there was no hostile activity headed their way, expecting him back in quick order. Selwyn was literally counting the seconds. His eyes met Aragorn's and he made a face, half chastising frown and half grimace of dread. "How much longer will this treatment take? I do not think it wise to keep an open fire burning for very long."

"Agreed," nodded Aragorn, "but I need to keep watch over him for a time while he sleeps. If the infection resumes, I may need to reopen the wound. I cannot allow the lung to become putrid, for then it may be impossible to save him." He tested Legolas' pulse again and gently lifted one eyelid, gratified to observe the pupil's contraction in response to the light. The shuttered eyes blinked and partially opened; the Wood Elf's hand lifted, searching, and grasped lightly to the man's when he found it.

"Kalrô," he muttered, shutting his eyes again.

"Yes, Legolas, I am here. There is no need to stir just yet; rest and recover your strength, mellon." Aragorn squeezed the long fingers and Legolas inhaled in a hitched and gasping manner, indicating there was still great pain around the lung, and slipped deeper into his healing slumber as the breath left him. The man wondered if the physical contact maintained the exchange of soul-light the archer needed or if only the caressing touch was effective. He was inclined to repeat it, but was rather too conscious of Selwyn's presence to do so.

"What is that he calls you?" asked Selwyn, still suspicious, for Thorongil was not said to keep company with elves. This man must be in league with the woodland folk, a spy sent here to gather information in preparation for an invasion.

"An elvish word, his name for me. The First-born are like that; they look at you once and give you a name and no matter what you tell them that is how you will be called thenceforth." Aragorn smiled, thinking of the translation Legolas had revealed, but kept that to himself.

"So that is you real name," the Sheriff nodded. It must be as he suspected. He would have to get both intruders to Meduseld for interrogation. The pair must know the Woodland King's plans.

"I am called many names," admitted Aragorn. "In Imladris I am Estel while to Gondor and Rohan I am Thorongil and to the folk of Eriador I am simply Strider, a Ranger of the hinterlands. For Legolas alone I am Kalrô." He was not aware of the warmth in his tone as he spoke this last part and did not quite understand Selwyn's arched brows and knowing look.

Selwyn decided the man really was Thorongil, but enchanted. No doubt being this elf's lover meant he would protect him staunchly, even as he had stated earlier. Having a man so well known to the Rohirrim along to get him past the Marshals of the Mark was a clever ploy and the Sheriff wondered now if the elf was only a spy or something even worse. Rohan was about to crown a new King and if he escorted these two to Edoras, mayhap he would be aiding the plans. Could this elf hope to murder Theoden King and plunge the country into disorder and chaos?

He opened his mouth to speak, for Aragorn was eyeing him closely, the man's gaze almost as hard to hold as an elf's, but before he could utter a sound an ominous groaning and creaking noise echoed through the woods. It died away slowly and the two men shared anxious expressions of puzzled dread. Even as they reached the same conclusion and moved to kill the flames, a shriek of terror raised the hairs on their necks and the tempo of their hearts. Aragorn hastened to Selwyn's side and held out his hand. "Sword," he ordered and the Sheriff did not hesitate to comply, drawing his own in kind. They stood side by side, allies in necessity, enmity forgotten, ready to fight whatever came at them through the cluttered wood.

The eerie grating of wood against wood made them clench their jaws, the bizarre noise growing ever louder and closer. Aragorn moved quickly to Legolas', resting in relaxed oblivion, and stood over him, prepared to die defending the one who had saved his life but dearly hoping it did not come to that. A hasty bargain with Manwë asked the Vala to spare him, reminding the King of the West that without help Legolas must surely perish. A loud crashing of leaves and limbs accompanied the pounding of feet and the men tensed for battle. Simultaneously they stumbled in mid-charge when Selwyn's comrade burst into the clearing, gasping and whimpering, eyes huge and face white as Ithil.

"Beldon!" shouted Selwyn, sheathing his sword and gripping the man firmly at the arms. "What is it; what is out there?"

"Trees!" wailed Beldon and broke from his captain in terror, running for the open grasslands as the creaky moaning resumed. A second or two later more branch-thrashing ensued as the man's horse breached the glade, neatly leapt the blaze, and went galloping after.

"What in Arda?" demanded Aragorn, but he had no need of words for what his eyes could see. Contrary to everything he knew of green life, these trees were not ordinary, stationary, rooted denizens of the forest. They were moving, closing in on the clearing with surprising speed, and for a moment all he could do was gape in shocked denial.

"Now you see!" yelled Selwyn. "Tell me this is not the doing of your Wood Elf. He has set the very trees upon us!"

"Nay!" shouted Aragorn. "Legolas would not do me ha"

He was cut off as Tuilelindô head-butted him in the back, her dark intelligent eyes rolling with fear. She danced back to her master, took his hair between her teeth, and yanked. Legolas came out of his reverie with a yelp.

"Ai! Bâ! Ni khaustâ," (Ai! Stop! I am resting.) he complained groggily and blinked blearily around, pushing up on his elbows with a groan. "Kalrô?"

"Im sí, Im sí" assured Aragorn, crouching beside Legolas to settle a cautioning hand on his shoulder. "Mellon, gerim trastad. (Friend, we've got a problem.) Do you think you can ride?"

Legolas' became alert just as a series of loud and strident clacks and claps rang through the clearing, a sound like wooden staves striking one another. It was not something he was familiar with but the noise was menacing for that fact if nothing else, and Tuilelindô was certainly frightened. He pushed himself to his knees and caught sight of the fire, disbelieving his eyes at first. Vaguely he recalled some discussion about it, but he'd been on the brink of collapse at the time. Had that not been part of the fever dream? The threatening noise repeated and grew louder.

"Ai! What idiot made fire in Fangorn?" he cried. Without waiting for the answer, he extended his arm straight out, pointed toward the crackling blaze palm downward. Lowering his hand abruptly, he spoke in loud tones of command: "Alnar!" (No fire!) Instantly the blaze extinguished itself; not even a wisp of smoke remained to bear witness to its brief existence. As for Legolas, he wobbled a bit and then simply crumpled into a senseless heap.

Aragorn and Selwyn stood staring in open-mouthed disbelief, again, fear and fury suspended in the wake of this display of elvish authority over so potent an element as fire. Their eyes moved from the scorched pit, in which the charred wood was cold and black, to one another, to the strange trees poised just on the verge of the clearing. It would seem the Wood Elf's action was a surprise to them as well. Then Selwyn's horse half-reared, pulling at reins secured to a bush, and Tuilelindô whinnied anxiously as she nosed her master. The trees began moving again. So did the men.

Selwyn dashed for his horse and sprang upon its back, ripping the leather leads from the shrub and shouting as he kneed the animal into a lunging run. He took no note of Aragorn's progress, deeming it time to cut loose his prisoners and leave the man to whatever fate befriending a sylvan elf earned him. He hardly needed to direct the horse, who waited barely long enough for Selwyn's rear to meet the saddle before breaking into a frantic gallop, aiming for the meadows of the Wold, weaving through the threatening trees, dodging outreaching limbs, lathered sides heaving.

Aragorn observed this with the thought that Selwyn was a wise man, sheathed his sword, and scooped the limp archer from the ground. Tuilelindô stood still, quivering and snorting, as her master was slung over her shoulders once more and the man hauled himself up behind. Legolas exhaled a short cry of pain and struggled to adjust his position, dimly recalling recent events. Behind him, Aragorn had just sufficient time to snatch a handful of her black mane and circle an arm about his friend's waist before she bolted. Legolas doubled over, clutching tight to the man's arm, his mare's mane, and consciousness, too. Unsure as to what exactly was happening, he trusted Tuilelindô's instinct to flee and did not attempt to guide or slow her.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, it occurred to Aragorn to wonder what offence he had committed and which Vala he had so incensed to call down upon himself such dramatic and persistent torment. _Uruks from Mordor, Orcs from Dol Guldur, on wargs yet, enraged Wraiths, a sickly sylvan for whose life I am now answerable, Wood Elf-hating Rohirric knights, and now attacking trees from Fangorn Forest._ Beyond that he was supremely grateful the doughty mare was too swift for the peripatetic oaks and ashes as the brighter light of the open meadow beckoned.

Man, Elf, and mare burst onto the plains and Tuilelindô kept running, trailing the thundering company of the Rohirrim as the horsemen urged their chargers for every ounce of speed. In short order the rear-guard spotted the stragglers and a shout accompanied the men's disbelieving stares. Word raced through them faster than their steeds galloped and the calvary increased its pace, many faces looking back on their pursuers with as much fear as if the trees were still after them. Selwyn called orders in their native tongue that Aragorn did not catch but it was not hard to figure out. Nonetheless, the company was not at first willing to abide by the commands, hoping instead to out race the stranger and his unwelcome companion.

"Ai Valar, horse slavers," Legolas growled, watching the throng galloping ahead. "What have you done, Kalrô? Tuilelindô, meina dele Taurê Smalta, askarâ!" (Tuilelindô, I want to get going to the Golden Wood, quickly!) With what strength he had Legolas urged his mare for a new direction, desperate to escape. She obeyed, swerving northward so that they drew apart from the thundering mass of men and horses, heading back across the Wold.

"No, Legolas!" Aragorn shouted in his ear, which made the ellon cringe. A brief over the shoulder glare chastised the man. "Apologies, mellon, but we need these men and their supplies."

As it turned out, Aragorn had no need to be dismayed. Behind them arose a clamour of yells and curses as Selwyn raged at his troops and they persisted in objecting. The word treason drifted through the air. Aragorn looked back to discover the Sheriff closing on him and the rest of the horsemen reluctantly following. Legolas' head ducked beneath his arm and a most obscene expression in dwarvish issued from his lips. He shifted until he was nearly lying on the mare's neck, pulling Aragorn down with him, and uttered an urgent command in Tuilelindô's ear. She responded with an unprecedented burst of energy the man would not have thought possible given the effort she had already exerted.

The chase was on; Tuilelindô giving the utmost to meet her master's request, ears back, neck flattened and stretched forward as she sped over the ground, cutting the air before her as straight and true as a well-aimed arrow. The determined charger bearing Selwyn was just as frantic to gain on the mare, nostrils flared and muscles driving to propel him close enough to catch her. The horses poured over the plain, hooves grabbing up the turf and shoving it behind them, clods of grassy earth ripped away and flung through the air, tails streaming and manes whipping their riders' faces. Yet weight was no small factor and the sylvan horse carried two riders while the Rohirric steed only one. With every stride the Sheriff's charger was gaining. The moment came when they were racing head to head and Legolas directed a chilling glare at Selwyn that made the mortal catch his breath.

Abruptly, the Wood Elf slowed his horse to a canter and swung her in a wide arc that sent her hurtling directly into the clump of the galloping cavalry. Shouts of surprise and fear arose and more than one lance levelled at the oncoming mare, but not a single horse would bear its rider into effective striking range, dodging, twisting and twirling away as Tuilelindô split the herd in twain. Those spears launched buried uselessly in the soil. More shouts arose as Selwyn ordered defensive measures only and had his men surround the labouring mare and her exhausted master. Reluctantly, Tuilelindô reduced speed to a mincing walk as she continued to wheel and dance, trying with what means left to her to protect Legolas. His voice soothed her and she relented at least, halting in the closing circle, head up, sides heaving in mighty gusts, great heart pounding, defiant even in defeat.

"Mellon, I beg you to let me handle this situation," Aragorn whispered, bent close to Legolas' ear. An exasperated eye swivelled to meet his and he hurriedly continued, dropping his voice even lower. "And I must plead with you not to reveal the name Aragorn to these men."

"What? Why?" Legolas, caught off guard by the unexpected request, forgot to challenge the grim-faced horseman guiding his blowing horse through the ring of lowered lances.

"It is a name I only give to those I know and trust," Aragorn muttered hastily, grey eye locked with bright blue, and was gratified to see the anger there melt into wondrous amazement. He smiled and squeezed Legolas' shoulder with his free hand, straightening as he raised his gaze to met Selwyn's aggravated scowl. "This is hardly necessary. Have your men draw back, Selwyn; we are no threat to you. I thought that fact was established."

"The only facts I have in hand are those my eyes have gathered," answered the horseman. "I have seen things told in legends and folk-lore," he added, raising his voice and meeting the concerned faces of his men. "Here is a Wood Elf, injured and in the care of a man who claims allegiance and friendship with Thengel King." Murmuring arose as the riders discussed the statement, not overly surprised for their comrade had already told them this and more. Selwyn went on. "I have seen trees walk, intent upon our destruction, it seemed. Mayhap the elf commands them and"

"Fool! No one commands the trees of Fangorn," scoffed Legolas. This did not go over well with the men of Rohan.

"A spy!" one shouted. "He is one of those who murdered our friends, Selwyn."

"Aye, he deserves death!" shouted another and the rest raised their angry voices in agreement. They shook their spears and had Selwyn not been in the way it is doubtful the interlopers would have lived past the moment. It took a good deal of voluble convincing, Selwyn demanding restraint from his men, Aragorn begging Legolas to keep his mouth shut, before the situation eased. Aragorn, keeping a firm grip on Legolas arm, spoke.

"Legolas has not murdered anyone," he said calmly. "If there is a grievance between Rohan and Greenwood, more violence is not the way to end it."

"Grievance? That is a nice word for killing honest tradesmen," retorted one of the horsemen.

"No Wood Elf has killed anyone from Rohan," countered Legolas. "It is Rohan who betrayed the people of Greenwood."

"Liar!" one man accused and strove to drive his horse past Selwyn's. Tuilelindô ably managed to remain behind the Sheriff's war horse as the milling animals jostled and bumped one another. Things settled when Selwyn grabbed the horse's bridle and thrust it backward.

"The sylvan people do not lie," insisted Aragorn. "Legolas saved my life, knowing nothing about me or from whence I came. Is that the act of a killer?"

"If your life served his purpose, it might be, " said Selwyn. "Mayhap you are enchanted."

"Ai Valar!" Legolas spat. "Verily do I wish I possessed that skill, sir, that I might gain my freedom."

"Indeed, I am not enchanted, Selwyn," Aragorn asserted. "My thoughts and actions are my own."

"How can we know this? We know nothing of you," said one of the men.

"I have proofs in the form of letters from Gondor that attest to"

"You might have waylaid Thorongil and stolen those," another interrupted.

"No matter who he is," Selwyn broke in, "we must decide what is to be done. I am loath to lead them to Meduseld in case the elf works some other magic about which we cannot guess. Already I have seen him control fire at will, extinguishing the blaze that so incensed the trees of Fangorn."

"And by so doing saved our lives," commented Aragorn.

"Yet even if this elf is an enemy, we are Men and not Orcs," Selwyn continued. "We do not strike down a defenceless opponent without just investigation of the matter at hand. This one Elf was not responsible for what happened to our folk, but maybe he knows something of it. That is what I mean to learn."

"I know much about it," growled Legolas in fury, "and it is your people who"

"Legolas, be quiet!" fumed Aragorn.

"Mayhap it is time to choose a new Sheriff," called one soldier.

"That is your right," said Selwyn, "and I will step down if that comes to pass, but this is not the place or time for it. If I am in the wrong I will accept the censure and punishment of my King. Until then, I say we attempt to act like men of reason and unravel this confusion."

"There is no confusion in my mind," snarled Legolas, addressing the Sheriff. "Let me pass if you are honourable, sir; I am as eager to leave here as your men are to have me go."

"Legolas, these men are not in league with the Shadow," said Aragorn.

"Do you now call me a liar, too?" asked the Wood Elf, much aggrieved to find the man would side with his own after all. "Get you down, then, and join your people."

"These are not my people," Aragorn corrected sharply, "but neither are they enemies, to your kind or to mine. It is clear that Darkness has once more driven a wedge between nations that should support one another. I hold that both claims are lies."

"A valid consideration," announced Selwyn. His men complained and he bellowed for silence. "Hear me out: if this is a ploy of the Shadow then we have all been used for its ends. Is that our creed? Murder has been done on both sides, this much seems true, for the Elf's wrath is genuine, but who has done it?"

"Wood Elves," came the answer. "They were seen to slay our people and run off the horses brought to make trade."

"Nay! It was a party of men from Rohan who lured my kin out from under the trees, lulled into trust by pleasing words spoken in the King's halls. An envoy went forth to see these tradesmen and their horses. Alas, lances speared them even as they entered the sunlit valley," countered Legolas. His words ended in choked misery and he dropped his face against the mare with a groan, for the pain was of body and soul both. Worn out from the chase and bereft of the adrenalin that had carried him through it, still weak from the poison's assault, Legolas found himself unable to go on. "Ai, Kalrô, to what end have you brought me?"

"Forgive me, my friend; I meant no such trouble to burden you," answered the man, truly distressed to see how strongly the elf was affected. Indeed, it was a tragic tale, whichever version was correct.

"It would seem your friend still requires care despite that gallant race across the plains," said Selwyn, wisely knowing his men could not but appreciate the skill with which the elf managed his steed. It was a small point, but presently there was nothing else in the captive's favour.

"Aye, he does, no matter his denials," agreed Aragorn. Legolas did not try to contradict him. "Your men want answers," he continued, having decided on a course that might move them from hostility to patience. "Let me tend to him and then we shall uncover the truth of this matter. If it is as your fellows claim and Legolas' people are the aggressors, then I will personally escort him to Edoras to face the just punishment of the King. Even more, I will go myself to the realm of King Thranduil and carry the tidings of this tribunal."

"What?" mumbled Legolas, making an ineffectual effort to unseat Aragorn. "Betrayer!" he hissed in despair and ceased his struggle, falling listless against Tuilelindô's neck. As for the mare, she was thoroughly confused, sensing her master's pain and anguish but also his unwillingness to harm the man. That being the case, she remained still.

"I will not betray you," claimed Aragorn. "I will not abandon you, Legolas, for both you and I know these charges are false. However it seems or whatever these men were told, Wood Elves do not attack unprovoked. Even the folk of Dunland know this to be true. Trust me, mellon. We share a bond of life over death."

"So I thought," grieved Legolas and sighed heavily. He was in no condition to fight; he had no choice but to accept these terms, biding his time until he was stronger. Then, he would teach this treacherous man a lesson he would not soon forget and render these horse-slavers so fearful of sylvans that they would never again set foot across Anduin.

"Then we are in accord," announced Selwyn. "We will camp here while the elf recovers and then we will hold trial. If our findings indicate the Woodland people have harmed us, then this elf will pay for all. Does that suit?" His stern glare and uncompromising tone made it plain he expected no disagreement. Grudgingly, his men signified their assent and dismounted, setting up tents and tending their chargers. Many a cold glare passed over the disabled elf and his protectors.

Selwyn met Aragorn's troubled gaze with cold misgiving. "Do not be alarmed; he is safe for the time being," he said. "I hold you responsible for his actions here. If he attempts to kill anyone, I will name you equally guilty and both your lives forfeit."

"I alone answer for what I do," announced Legolas, voice low and fraught with misery, "no matter how repugnant, even though it must crush my heart."

In silence the two men regarded him, uncomfortable with both the statement and the evident sorrow with which it was uttered. Their eyes met uneasily and Selwyn dismounted. "You may have the use of my tent." He held up his hand and spoke gruffly as he saw Thorongil poised to offer thanks. "It is not for your comfort or his, but to isolate you both from my men. I will not have any of them harmed because of zealousness to avenge their kinfolk."

"I see." Aragorn was grim but not hopeless. Selwyn displayed a cool head and an ability to manage his troops even under trying conditions. This equanimity promised that the truth must overrule his doubts. He slid from Tuilelindô's back and pulled Legolas down with him, hefting the ungainly collection of lax limbs with difficulty. The archer clutched to him, arms about his neck, suddenly rigid as his body protested the jostling and jarring.

"You mean to see me dead now?" he ground out, trying without result to stifle the rapid gusts of breath required to see him through the tearing agony.

"Nay, I mean to see you well and strong, and yes, I know that once you are you can easily defeat not only me but any man here," Aragorn murmured quietly, meeting the sylvan's eyes honestly. "I trust you will not kill what you have suffered so much to preserve, mellon. There is more at work here than can yet be perceived at first telling. Trust me and mayhap both Greenwood and Rohan will deal a blow to the masters of Dol Guldur." He took an educated guess in mentioning the black tower, not forgetting the ellon's unusual proximity to it and the remnant evidence of torture on his body.

Legolas peered into the calm grey eyes and sought for the lie that must be there, hidden so well he had missed it, but he found only that which had inspired his decision to befriend the human. Aragorn was noble and must have a reason for his seemingly traitorous behaviour. Legolas groaned in exhausted misery and leaned his head against the man's shoulder. "So be it. I will go on trusting you until the moment these men condemn me and you try to fulfil your promise. Then it will be as I have said: I will not be taken alive."

They lurched toward the tent Selwyn was erecting, Legolas unwilling to show weakness by being carried there. Inside, he gratefully laid his battered body down and sighed.The blanket was coarse and rough against his skin, the ground hard beneath it. He wished for a soft nest of ferns and pine boughs but he did not want to complain.

"Quenching the fire depleted me; my light ebbs even as I try to heal. Yet now I have desperate need to heal fully and quickly. I will need your assistance again, Kalrô"

"Ah, you mean the giving of soul-light? I confess I am not sure how it works, mellon, but if you say it aids you then, of course"

"Are you a healer or not? Can you not detect improvement? I must say I find your claims of tutoring by Lord Elrond difficult to credit."

"I noted the healing when I cleansed the wound," Aragorn answered defensively. "Lord Elrond did not instruct me about this light sharing procedure. I am thinking it is a sylvan method." He knelt beside Legolas and tentatively began the soothing caress, glad to see the Wood Elf relax. It was a little disconcerting to note the evidence of the body's responsiveness as tiny pink nipples tightened up and became as dark as garnets, while a slight quickening of the penis warned that full arousal might result. "Uh, like this, mellon?" Aragorn swallowed as he met the ellon's dreamy gaze.

"Aye, perfect," Legolas sighed, shivering and reaching up to run his hand over Aragorn's bare chest. "Why are men so hairy?" he asked.

"Thus Iluvatar made us," shrugged Aragorn, face colouring as he watched Legolas respond, moderately alarmed to feel himself begin to experience a like sensation of desire. He abruptly stopped and sat aside, making a pretence of looking through the pack Selwyn had left in the tent. "Mayhap he has way-bread," he muttered, unable to meet Legolas' troubled eyes.

"Why did you stop?" the archer demanded.

"I, uh, find the treatment a bitintimate," the man admitted, daring a quick glimpse of the hurt expression on Legolas' face. "I just have been schooled to remain more removed from suchpersonal contact with my patients."

"Patient? Is that what I am? What about our bond of life over death?" fumed Legolas, now feeling embarrassed to have let this stranger get so close to him that he had shared his light. Why had he done that? Why had he cared so much to ensure this mortal lived? He rolled over and presented a rigid back, legs drawn up against his chest and arms hugging them. "No wonder, trained by Noldor, whose aid kills as often as it cures."

"I do not mean to offend," pleaded Aragorn, "but this is all new to me." That was not entirely true; he'd had his share of lovers, the first being Lindir, but he had never been drawn in this manner to a patient. For some reason, the natural barrier that usually existed between him and those in his care failed to develop. He reached a tentative hand and trailed his fingers over the stiff spine, pleased to see the faded bruising completely gone. At first, Legolas became even more unyielding, but Aragorn was genuine in his desire to lend help and this was made evident through their point of contact. It was much easier to do without watching Legolas becoming aroused. Gradually, the ellon relaxed and stretched his legs out, but refused to roll over.

Legolas sighed in sombre resignation, deeming he had somehow stepped over a boundary he did not understand, some Noldorin custom perhaps. He realised that his caress had unsettled Aragorn, though the man's response could not be denied, and so he decided not to touch him again until he fell into sleep. Still, there was that assuring remark about names and trust to consider, and the contact was filled with the man's light. He gave freely without reserve and so Legolas grew content. He sighed again. "Who was stupid enough to light a blaze in Fangorn?" he queried.

"Ah. That would be me, Legolas," Aragorn admitted. "I needed hot water to steep the cleansing herbs and purify a blade in case I had to excise the diseased tissue."

The Wood Elf half turned to look over his shoulder in wonder. "You made the fire?"

"Well, I had Selwyn do it because I was tending you. There was no harm in it; the blaze was very small and fully contained."

"No harm? That is absurd. Would you be insulted if someone came to your home and set fire to it?"

"I didn't set fire to Fangorn, Legolas, and I felt the forest would understand that I was helping a Wood Elf. Surely that must count for something."

"Why? No elves have ever lived in Fangorn, though legend says sylvan elves taught the trees to speak. Yet we acknowledge they are sovereign beings with the same rights as any others to freedom. Why do men assume that just because they cannot hear or understand what is being said, that nothing is being said?"

"Ai! I respect green life, Legolas. I just thought the trees would understand what I was doing."

"Not without telling them and not without asking their permission first," he explained, exasperated. "Very poor manners." Legolas laid back down fully and shivered a little as the rough fibres rubbed his skin, and that reminded him of something else. "Where are my clothes, Kalrô? I cannot go around naked in front of all these men."

Aragorn was silent a few moments, prompting another half turn and seething glare from the Wood Elf. He cleared his throat and sent a particularly soothing caress over the ellon's shoulders. "Well, in all the excitement of being taken prisoner by Selwyn and then having trees chasing us, and being taken prisoner again, I left them behind. I am sorry, mellon." He offered an apologetic smile but the expression barely had time to take shape before he was struck a resounding slap on the cheek, so sharp the clap was loud and stung his face. He reeled backward in surprise, hand to his burning cheek. "Ai! You are fast when you want to be."

"That was promised you and you have more than earned it."

"Perhaps, yet I resent that you must have used light I just gave you to achieve such quickness."

"That you earned as well, placing me in this perilous predicament, naked and wounded and weaponless. How can you call me friend?"

To that Aragorn had much to say, attempting to reassure Legolas that he would not allow any harm to come to him. He offered his shirt as a temporary cover for ellon's nudity and was growled at so fiercely he feared another blow was imminent.

Yet Legolas was weary and needed sleep more than anything else, and in spite of his complaints he still trusted the man. He finally rolled over and reached for Aragorn's hand, settling it over his heart. "Kalrô, is it safe to sleep?"

"Aye, Legolas; I will watch over you."

"No more attacks and forced flights?"

"No, I am sure Selwyn will manage his men properly."

"You have your sword?"

"I do." He drew it forward and laid it on the ground beside the elf. "I will use it in your defence; have no fear."

"Even against men?"

"Yes, Legolas, even against men."

That seemed to finally convince the elf. He smiled as the blue eyes blinked twice and glazed over, lids dropping almost all the way shut but not quite. Aragorn found himself continuing the healing caress and humming a soft song, hoping he would not need to use violence against the men of Rohan but committed to do so if it was needed.

 _Aye, a bond of life over death, even as he said._

Just thinking this gave him a serene feeling of comfort, not doubting the bond would endure throughout his life-time and beyond.

TBC


	6. Truthful Mysteries

#### Chapter Six: Truthful Mysteries

Warmth radiated through his body in thrilling, enveloping waves, surges of erotic heat that made his nerves tingle and set every sensitive site on his body singing. Each of these delightful ripples rolled through him gently, the pleasure of the sinuous swells building, slowly rising and gathering into the curling undulations of a rushing tide, collecting in bright, tight nodes of pulsing flesh, cresting and breaking over him at last only to start anew. He could not anticipate where the next touch would fall, what faint wisp of breath or languid caress might initiate the glorious pulse of excitation. He did not care to know; it was part of the exhilaration not to know. This, he understood innately, was solely for him, for his benefit and enjoyment, and he relished both the somatic tremors and the sense of safety, of being free to relax into it and just let it carry him adrift, floating, on this sea of endless delight until the tide peaked and roared through him in a mad froth of violent bliss.

Fingertips traipsing down his chest brushed across a nipple, delicately, the touch so faint he might be made of fragile hoar frost, but the contact sent a bolt of pleasure racing through his nerves as potent and piercing as an arrow.

He shivered, groaned, longed for the same again.

His eyes were closed so he could not see the agent of this exquisite anguish, but that served to enhance the feeling to a level of wrenching anticipation he had not imagined possible. Such gifted, clever fingers explored him, leaving no mound or crevice unmapped, alternately tantalising with tenderness by teasingly tripping over the tip of his penis or stroking the underside of his tight scrotum where the balls were gathered up close against his root. Quick as thinking the touch retreated to travel over his belly, invade his naval, brush the hair on his chest backward.

He sighed, moaned, wriggled, and desperately hoped his tormentor would begin a more concerted effort to know him more thoroughly in those intimate areas most responsive to such stimulation. His cock was so hard the glans throbbed and he could feel his juices slithering out through the slit, gasped suddenly when a thumb swiped the droplet away. His whole body rocked as his cock reared up, seeking the source of the stimulus.

"Mmmmmmmm."

The long drawn sound was finished off by the distinctive noise of fingers being pulled out of wet lips and Aragorn at last pried his eyes open. They immediately went wide in surprised delight and a grin overtook his features. There was the naked Wood Elf poised on his knees beside him, smiling faintly as he gazed at the Man's engorged penis. Before Aragorn could find presence of mind to speak, the fair ellon swooped down and settled those delectable lips round the head of his shaft and sucked.

"Elbereth!" Aragorn shouted and pivoted his hips to engage more of the hot confinement. Golden hair rained down and trailed over his thighs and belly as Legolas sank lower then rose, swallowed and lapped him, bobbed up and down, eagerly devouring his aroused cock. With a trembling hand he reached for the flaxen tresses and brought himself half-sitting, balancing on an elbow as he dug his fingers into the wild mane.

"Oh, yes!" he grunted round the words, aching to achieve orgasm and watch this delectable creature swallow his seed. Aragorn thrust up hard into the exquisite suction. As he dropped back to the ground, a soft, electric hum surrounded his penis as the Wood Elf uttered some subdued vocalisation against the protrusion of potent flesh in his mouth. "Valar!" Aragorn gripped the hank of hair and pulled. Legolas' head rose up and those magical fingers trailed over the Man's balls, pausing to squeeze a bit. Aragorn shouted an incoherent roar of pleasure and exploded into ecstasy. It was over too soon and he felt himself drifting away into relaxed, sated slumber, a smile upon his lips and his fingers still clutching the golden strands.

He awoke slowly, so refreshed and filled with goodwill he felt himself smiling for the sheer joy of being alive and feeling so wonderful. Then he recalled why and almost laughed. Seldom had he had such a fulfilling fantasy and he relished the memory of the dream, so vivid and exciting he doubted he would ever forget it. A small blot appeared on his sunny horizon over the reason for Legolas' appearance in the phantasm, but he easily dismissed it by recalling just how long it had been since he'd had an elven lover. The Wood Elf was beautiful and Aragorn was feeling ruttish; that was reason enough.

 _Would that it had been real._

He yawned, stretching his entire body in luxuriant laziness, and peered out of slitted eyes at the subject of the erotic phantasm crouched nearby on the floor of the tent. Aragorn smiled and inhaled a deep, satisfied breath, releasing it with a muted moan of contentment which made the ellon look up. Legolas, however, was not smiling.

"Finally you wake," he groused. "I would think you were the injured one by the amount of rest you took."

"I was injured; have you forgotten?" answered Aragorn irritably, all his fiery images vanishing. He sat up, suddenly he worried if he had actually come, though he had not experienced a wet dream since adolescence, and focused on his personal condition. Nothing uncomfortably damp and sticky assailed his nether regions and that at least was reassuring in light of Legolas' dismal attitude. A noisy tearing sound drew his attention to what the elf was doing.

"No, how could I forget when it was giving you my light that caused all the troubles thereafter," Legolas complained, shaking his head dourly as he returned attention to the fabric in his hands. It was the blanket Selwyn had given them and Legolas was tearing it to pieces.

"Why are you doing that?" demanded Aragorn, finding this to be pointless destruction of a useful commodity. "I am human and feel the cold at night, Legolas. You are destroying the only covering we have."

"I am the one forced to nakedness, again because of you, and this is the only covering _I_ have. That shirt you promised me, do you recall where it is, Kalrô?"

Now that the point was being made, Aragorn did indeed recall: it was lying in the heap made of all his and Legolas' possessions when the Rohirrim searched his pack. _At least I am still Kalrô_ He sighed again. "Yes, you are right; I left it behind in Fangorn with everything else. I am the thoughtless one, mellon, and apologise for promising something I could not produce." He offered a sheepish smile and hoped it would ease the tense mood collecting in the tent. It didn't.

"You have no idea how embarrassing this is," seethed Legolas, giving the blanket a particularly forceful yank. It tore with a loud rending sound, underscoring his displeasure perfectly. "Naked as a new-born babe for all to see! That horse-slaver was in here running his mouth and letting his eyes roam freely, sword in hand in case I might try to 'enchant' him, fussing over how deeply you slept. Sick as I was, I made sure _you_ had a full, recovering rest and he was accusing me of foul play! I wish I had Mithrandir's powers; I would indeed enchant that man right into a rock forever more!"

"Do you mean Selwyn?" Aragorn was shocked by the depth to which this statement made him livid with outrage on his friend's behalf. "What did he say? He didn't try to touch you, did he?"

The tone of his words made Legolas relinquish some of his bellicose mood; a vague expression of warmth softened his features as he shook his head. "No, he remained far from me, thrice presenting that strange motion of his right hand which he believes will protect him from magic spells. It would not help him at all in the face of real sorcery."

"Nay, I am sure you're right. What did he say to you?" Aragorn was only moderately mollified.

"The same ignorant remarks you heard earlier, I would guess," Legolas shrugged. "It was his staring that was inexcusable. He knew I had no means to cover myself without taking the blanket away from you. An honourable person would have left the tent when I asked him to."

"You told him to leave and he refused?" Now Aragorn was beginning to steam, picturing the Sheriff leering at Legolas.

"I ordered him to get out and he just stood there, eyes wandering where he wished, making that absurd warding gesture. Then I recalled he cannot speak or understand Sindarin so I said it in Westron. Vile horse-slaver! Accused me of uttering a spell and demanded to know what it would do to him." Legolas glanced at Aragorn and felt his heart leap; the Man was ready to do murder! Aragorn jumped to his feet and paced around the small space.

"Inexcusable!" he fumed. "He is Sheriff of the East Wold and should have better manners."

"Sheriff of the East Wold," Legolas snorted sarcastically. "He is a leader of horse-slavers; what kind of courtesy can he possess?"

"Perhaps. Why do you call them horse-slavers? The Rohirrim are known for their love of all equines and treat them as family rather than livestock," Aragorn said, anxious about the pending problem of the Wood Elf's trial all the more for Selwyn's loutish behaviour.

"It is not horses they enslave, but they use the horses to lure their victims," announced the sylvan archer. "These are not Men like you, Kalrô. They may place high value on their horses, but other beings, specifically Wood Elves, they view as prey to hunt and capture and sell to Dol Guldur for their own ends."

"What? Rude and uncouth they may be, but I have heard of no such practices among these horsemen, Legolas, and I would have heard."

"Really? I don't recall ever seeing you around Greenwood before," snapped Legolas, his fury back in full and then some. "Have you lived here among these folk? I doubt that for you would have had a horse that would not desert you when you came after the Orcs in the Brown Lands. No, you have lived far from here and recall what you knew of these people when last you treated with them. We, too, once thought well of the Rohirrim, or at least felt they were harmless. I assure you, we will never be fooled thus again."

This bitter speech poured forth as Legolas stood up and used a strip of the blanket to make a breech clout which he tied about his slender hips with another strip of the woollen material so that a short apron fell over his lower half. It came to mid-thigh and covered only his buttocks and pelvic region, with his legs bare all the way up to his waist, but at least he was no longer completely exposed. The rest of the blanket was intact, though shortened, and he balled it up, throwing it at the Man with rather more force than necessary.

Aragorn caught it before it hit him full in the face and folded it neatly, noticing that Legolas had made sure to remove as small a piece of cloth as possible, so to ensure adequate cover remained for the chilly nights. The Man's features screwed up in chagrin; he'd accused Legolas of selfishness with virtually the first words out of his mouth upon waking. Why had he not greeted the ellon correctly and asked after his health? He glanced at the lean figure, eyeing the bandage and wanting to examine the damage under it, but Legolas was just then ducking through the flap.

"Wait!" Aragorn hurried after, concerned about what might happen if Legolas was stopped by the Rohirrim, but found the elf waiting for him just outside, cooing at Tuilelindô and stroking her soft nose. Now that he had thought to observe Legolas, he was amazed by the dramatic improvement. The bandaging was still in place, clean and spotless, and the archer did not appear to be suffering pain or the exhaustion of the previous day. _Well, he 'healed by dawn' after all; it just took two more dawns than he thought._ Still, it would be prudent to inspect the wound before letting his friend become too active. Legolas turned to him with a smile and he returned it warmly.

"Forgive me for saying you would rob me of the blanket's warmth, mellon. I swear, my own mother would not know me from this discourteous demeanour." Aragorn was pleasantly surprised to see a soft pink glow suffuse the ellon's ears and cheeks as another half-shouldered shrug introduced a beaming smile.

"Ú-boe pedich," (No need to say it.) he murmured and returned his attention self-consciously to the mare as Aragorn's gaze raked him from crown to soles. He could not deny that this was a welcomed inspection, unlike the other man's curiosity.

"You are much improved today," Aragorn ventured, "but I would like to take a look at the injury to make sure all is well. Come back inside, Legolas."

"Aye, in a moment." Legolas inhaled and got his thoughts back on the needs of the moment. "I must relieve myself and find water. Then I could do with food and a chance to wash would be grand, though I doubt either of us will be accorded that privilege. Come along." Legolas moved out into the plain, the mare ambling along beside him.

Aragorn raised both brows high. "You want my help with that?"

"I need my body guard," Legolas called over his shoulder, flashing that amazing smile again. "Hurry, I have no wish to be stopped by these horse-slavers. And bring the sword."

He walked on with a loose, confident gait and the little flaps of the loin cloth swayed over his small, tight rump. Aragorn's brows nearly disappeared into his hair, and he could not tear his sight away.

The Man shook himself suddenly and cast a warning scowl about the camp to see who else was watching. Sure enough, there were several horsemen gaping, though warily, and Selwyn was striding toward the Wood Elf. Aragorn ducked back inside the tent and grabbed up his sword, trotting after Legolas to reach him before the Sheriff. He held up a hand to caution Selwyn and the Man slowed, scowling at the sylvan archer but unwilling to confront him, unable to hold the deadly glare Legolas trained upon him. He transferred his displeasure to Thorongil.

"You were not given leave to roam the camp at will," he began but the Wood Elf cut him off.

"I do not require your leave to attend to the demands of the body. I must hunt as well, unless you have food to share." Legolas paused and stood tall, arms folded before his bare chest, impressive even in his brief attire: wild and beautiful and dangerous. It was only now that Aragorn spotted the dagger tucked under the makeshift belt.

Selwyn felt the sudden impulse to apologise and offer a deep, obeisant bow so imperious and commanding was this elf. Immediately he stifled the urge and glowered darkly at Thorongil, flicking another swift glance at the sylvan that managed to take in the whole person. The Sheriff was aware of the inherent majesty all the First-born projected, but found this one's manner even more intimidating. Perhaps that was because he had met so few elves in person, only the single Galadhel contact on the borders of Lorien. He cleared his throat.

"I will see to it you both eat," he addressed Thorongil, " but under no circumstances are ether of you to leave the camp. We made an agreement."

"I made no agreement," sneered Legolas. Aragorn was beside him now and gave his ankle a slight kick. "Well, I didn't."

"Please, mellon, don't make things worse than they are," pleaded Aragorn before turning to Selwyn. "Thank you for the food and we will honour the agreement." He smiled as he took hold of Legolas' elbow and steered him away from the Sheriff, angling for a clump of scrubby shrubs where they could empty their bladders. Then he decided a little clarification was in order and halted, half-turning to eye Selwyn with baleful forboding. "We may be your prisoners, yet I would hope you would not engage in lubricious gawking and staring at Legolas' expense."

"What?" Selwyn turned quite red of face and his eyes flickered between the two. "I was not, at least not intentionally," he sputtered out, angry to be taken to task by his prisoners but unable to deny the truth either, which shamed him. He drew himself straight and raised his chin defiantly. "You, for that matter, might attempt to be more discreet during your healing 'treatments'."

Aragorn's eyes popped wide. "Exactly what are you insinuating?"

"Never mind him, Kalrô," laughed Legolas. "Perhaps he was dreaming in the night."

That gave the Man a severe jolt and he peered at the Wood Elf in confusion. Had it been real? Well, certainly he had dreamed, but had he been noisy enough to attract the notice of whatever guard had been stationed near the tent flap? Now it was his turn to flush with embarrassment, which made Legolas laugh harder.

"Serves you both right," he said with smug appreciation, "since I am the one forced to endure the mortification of going about naked, or nearly so."

"Elbereth," groaned Aragorn, aggravated at his friend's idea of humour. "I believed you, Legolas. My apologies, Selwyn." He started forward again and dragged the ellon along.

"Mine also," said the totally bewildered Sheriff. What was going on here? Was Thorongil a willing party or encorcelled?

"That was really unnecessary," hissed Aragorn. "I am trying to maintain good terms with Selwyn and bating me that way does not help matters."

"I was not. Do you name me a liar again? He did come in and inspect me most thoroughly; he admitted as much," said Legolas, but he was quite pleased with himself nonetheless.

"Aye, he did," answered Aragorn, "but what was all that about dreaming?"

"You were; have you no memory of doing so?" The ellon'svoice was positively packed with mirth. Aragorn did not appreciate it.

"I begin to wonder if that Sheriff was right about enchantment," he remarked, "since I have not been subject to such dreams in quite a large number of years. Hurry along, I've no wish for another confrontation with these men."

Legolas cut him a withering look but complied and they managed to deal with the minor problem of urination without further conflict, Tuilelindô acting as a barrier to screen them from inquisitive eyes. On their return trip, Legolas scanned the surroundings to get his bearings, but he had never been in this part of the world before. His nose told him only that the river was the closest source of water and that there was abundant game to be had. He sighed and ran his fingers through the mare's mane.

"We should try to get away from these Men," he whispered. "How far do you think we are from the Celebrant?"

"Too far to outrun them, as surely you must know," cautioned Aragorn.

"How would I know? I have never travelled here nor have I even visited Lorien."

"Never?" Aragorn was not really surprised; few were the sightings of Wood Elves out in the world. The forest folk preferred to remain beneath their trees. He wondered if he should venture a few questions and decided it was necessary in light of the trial to come. "Then how came you to be in the Brown Lands?"

"Mithrandir sent me there," came the unexpected answer and then nothing more.

The woodland warrior effectively ended the conversation by breaking into a soulful song that was filled with sweet melancholia as only an Elf could know or express. Though the words were in the archer's ancient speech, Aragorn was moved by the mingling of sorrow and joy, pride and wearing grief, hope and determination. While he could not translate the lyrics, he sensed it was an ancient tune whose story was now fresh upon the archer's heart. Aragorn could not help being worried about how he was going to manage this strong-willed but strangely vulnerable sylvan in the trial to come. Every eye was trained upon them, but they made it back to the tent without incident. The song completed, the Man decided to inspect the arrow wound.

Legolas knew without being asked and stood still as the bandage was unwrapped, arms out from his sides to make it easier for the Man, and watched Aragorn intently. "What are we to do about thisthis primitive court, Kalrô? Can you not see that these men only want to find me guilty so to have an excuse for killing me? Or worse."

"I know your opinion of the Rohirrim is low, but Selwyn strikes me as a decent person overall. He will not give in to the irrational demands of his soldiers." Aragorn paused as the last bit of gauze, stiff and caked with the remnant of the dark ooze of the poison and pus, came away. The hole was sealed, a bright red stripe about a finger long and the width of two fingers marking its deadly location. He was glad to see the clean, smooth skin and had no doubt the zone would fade to match the rest of Legolas' body, leaving no scar. _Yet he will never forget._ Aragorn suddenly wondered how old Legolas might be and how many injuries like this he'd endured.

"Selwyn is one of them; he will not take my part even if he believes my words," Legolas contradicted. He shivered as Aragorn's fingers touched the new flesh and blushed a little when this made him look up sharply.

"Is there pain when I press there?" he asked.

"Nay," Legolas answered and found he could not explain that Kalrô's touch was pleasurable. The way he'd reacted to that one caress made him refrain and wonder anew about Noldorin customs and those of Men as well. Was that hesitation because he was male or because he was a Wood Elf, or both?

"Good. It seems completely renewed; truly wondrous. Never have I seen anyone defeat so virulent a poison, especially under such adverse conditions."

"Wood Elf." Legolas shrugged but his eyes were shining proudly. Then he stiffened and moved further into the tent. "Here he comes with the food. Probably some indigestible stew made from clippings off the horses' hooves."

The description simultaneously made Aragorn want to laugh and gag, but he refrained as the flap was lifted and a guard peered in just before Selwyn came though the opening. The Sheriff was bearing a little bundle wadded up in his hands and thrust this at Thorongil, cutting a wary frown at the elf and then away. Over his shoulder a water skin was slung and he handed this off once the food was transferred safely.

"It is the same that we eat ourselves," he said defensively, eyes again on the sylvan. "I will leave you to it and return later. He is well?" This he asked with no small astonishment as he caught sight of the garish crimson spot where a festering gash had been the day before.

"Aye, elven folk heal much more quickly than Men," explained Aragorn.

"That much is known to us," chided Selwyn, "but that was a mortal wound if ever I saw one. Was the lung not afflicted? Was there not virulent poison on the arrow?"

"Obviously you know nothing of my people," intoned Legolas as he unwrapped the meal. Inside he found hard cheese, some way-bread, and a strip of some sort of dried meat that smelled strongly of garlic. His nose wrinkled in distaste. "Ugh. Troll food," he muttered and sighed, taking the cheese and handing the rest over to Aragorn. He retreated to the farthest wall and sat with his back to the humans. "We are the strongest of the First-born."

"Legolas speaks the truth," Aragorn said brightly, hoping to appease both belligerent beings in the tent, but Selwyn was scowling vilely.

"I am sure he does," the Sheriff scoffed, but hastily retreated when the Elf began to rise. A chorus of ringing laughter followed him out and he stalked away in miserable fury, motioning his guard to remain near the prisoners.

"Ai! Legolas, why must you incite than man to anger? He is to be our judge in this case," scolded Aragorn, sitting beside his friend and digging into the food. He was famished and began wolfing down the meat with barely a bite to soften it up.

"He is so pompous," sneered Legolas. "Sheriff of the East Wold. Pah! He is nothing and will be gone from this earth before I see another fifty years."

"I, too, must leave this world some day," Aragorn reminded gravely and watched the ellon's face fall in embarrassment.

"Gohennach nín," (Forgive me) he said quietly. "I hardly think of you as one of them. You are more like an Elf in mind and heart."

"What a thing to say," Aragorn was again nonplussed. "How can you know my mind and heart, Legolas? Is this the result of sharing light?"

"It is," Legolas replied and then stopped himself, afraid to reveal more until he had time to unravel Kalrô's mysterious resistance to intimacy with him. They chewed in silence for a time.

"I need to know as much detail about this alleged ambush as you can give," Aragorn said, deciding not to press for more information about the effects of giving and receiving soul-light. Not only was Legolas clearly uncomfortable talking about it, he was himself apprehensive over the depth to which he felt the bond between them. It was not honourable to encourage strong feeling in the First-born for the Second, since death must eventually part them and grief was deadly for elves. What would that horror be like, living forever as spirit in the Halls of Mandos, consumed in sorrow that could never be alleviated since humans left Arda forever, never to be reborn?

 _No Elf should suffer such a fate, especially not this one._

The memory of the dream returned and Aragorn scrutinised his companion covertly. Legolas was magnificent, not only to gaze upon but to know. He was true-hearted and noble, wild and free, proud and strong. He deserved to love and be loved eternally by one of his own people. _We will remain friends, a fitting enough bond between Man and Elf._ Thinking this, sorrow filled Aragorn's heart and he sighed heavily even as he resolved to hide his interest so as not to nourish the bond. How he could imagine that any Elf would fail to notice such a response is testament to the power of denial.

"What is it?" Legolas inquired gently, hoping for a means to broach the subject looming between them.

"Nothing," the Man said quickly, presenting a grimace. "Or rather, I am worried about the means to prove your words to these people."

"It will not be possible," Legolas answered in gloomy malaise. "I will not permit them to sell me to Dol Guldur," he added.

"No more will I!" exclaimed Aragorn and reached to take a firm hold of his friend's shoulder. "I meant it when I said I would defend you against them, even to the death."

"It may come to that," warned Legolas. "Why should they admit wrong-doing when they can simply kill us and be done with it?"

"If that is what they wished to do, Selwyn would have ordered it already."

"Which is why I fear we are meant for the pits of the Black Tower." Legolas shuddered and lost all appetite, tossing his hunk of cheese back into the Man's bundle. "I will not go back there."

"So you were imprisoned by the Wraiths," Aragorn nodded solemnly and answered the ellon's surprised expression. "I saw bruising on you back."

"Ah."

That was all Legolas said, but he said it in a way that conveyed the beatings were the least of the torments he'd known. Aragorn discovered he was unwilling to query further, feeling strongly that what had been done to his friend was unspeakably horrendous and he couldn't bear to hear about it.

He was still picking at the food when Selwyn returned, forewarned again by Legolas' keen ears, and the Sheriff sat cross-legged beside them. Avoiding the Elf's gaze, he spoke to Thorongil.

"I see no reason to get into another shouting contest," he began. "As it stands, the story is impossible to verify either way. I have questioned my people and none of them spoke directly to either Bjorn or Ari. Everything they believe is based on tales told from those who were not there and do not know. We must seek these only witnesses and hear their words first-hand."

"What say you?" demanded Legolas, uncertain whether this was an omen of good or ill. "Where are these men? I will not go to your city of gold upon the hill."

"You will go where we say," countered Selwyn, surprised by Legolas' reluctance to journey to Meduseld. Perhaps his fears were unfounded after all. "Yet, they do not live near the Golden Hall of the King. We must ride three days south and west to find the holdings of these brothers. Can you control your friend?" He spoke only to Thorongil but involuntarily shrank back when the Wood Elf leapt to his feet, radiating furious outrage.

"Control? Control? You talk as though I am already a slave. I tell you now; that shall _never_ be!" Legolas was shouting, blue eyes sparking with rage and what was undoubtedly fear. Aragorn's hand again steadied him, both men having risen in an instant, and he grew quiet, trembling in the effort to overrule the instinct to flee.

"He does not mean to say you are under my command," Aragorn reassured, shooting Selwyn a pointed look. The Sheriff took the hint.

"Indeed I did not," he said, heart hammering, fully conscious of Thorongil's warning about the Elf's superior strength and skill, and dared a glimpse of the seething sylvan. Once more he was astounded, this time to note the unmistakable cast of fright in the huge indigo eyes. Selwyn blinked. The Elf was afraid of him? Legolas' demeanour reminded him of his original assessment: someone in a dangerous situation, a victim of ill-deeds done by a vile Man. "I was being spiteful and such is beneath my dignity. You are a prisoner, but only until the truth of this tale can be determined. Then you may in fact be in peril, but I pledge your safety with my own life until that be known."

This was faint comfort for Legolas but he trusted Aragorn and met the Man's eyes. Truthfully, he had arrived at the same conclusion Selwyn stated, but the suggestion of enslavement terrified him so that he could not simply say he wished to question the 'survivors' of the elvish raid himself. Instead he drew closer to Aragorn and gripped his arm tight.

"I will go with you beside me, Kalrô," he said, calmer now, and actually managed a smile when Aragorn nodded assent and squeezed back.

"So be it," said Selwyn. "Prepare yourselves and break down the tent. We ride when the sun tops Fangorn." He left them, mulling over the Elf's reaction, more disturbed than ever.

Man and Elf faced one another grimly and Legolas sighed, moving to lean against Aragorn without even thinking about it, needing the comfort of closeness. The hand that rose to rub his back soothed him mightily and he relaxed, letting his head come to rest on the Man's broad shoulder.

"Sometimes," whispered Legolas, "I wish Mithrandir hadn't found me."

TBC

NOTE: Is everyone suitably confused about Aragorn's dream and Selwyn's lustful leering? Could the charge of enchantment possibly be true? Believe it or not, things are about to become clearer. Thanks to everyone reading and especially those sending me great feedback. You folks are the best :D

##### Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.


	7. Dire Deception Divulged

#### Chapter Seven: Dire Deception Divulged

The sun was high and the wind still; the lush grasslands an unending expanse of dark emerald blades, motionless, exultant in the golden light. Away past the limits of keenest sight stretched the plains, empty and imbued with a desolate peace that inspired the mind to introspection, the heart to wander within its own chambered depths. Lured by the magnificent isolation, the magnitude and grandeur of this remote and wild world, the soul took flight and soared beyond the bounds of blood and bone, the cloudless sky of brilliant blue, the viridian fields. How great a wonder was this earth, needing no living thing beyond these verdant, voiceless works of the Goddess' art to be superb, exceeding any design of human hands or even elvish skill. How strange a thing, to appreciate a place he must leave some day, a place his kind were meant to inherit only to abandon at the end of life, the spirit fleeing this glorious world forever, the body becoming naught but another element of the soil that fed these grasses.

So thought Aragorn as he gazed out toward the horizon, strolling in a mellow fugue beside the sylvan mare to give her rest from the burden of his weight. He was not alone, the Wood Elf walking just ahead of him and the company of Selwyn's horsemen strewn out in a loose arc about them, the men of Rohan also afoot to ease their chargers' journey. The only silence was that created by ignoring the tread of so many feet, the thud and thump of so many hooves, the clink and creaking of tack and weapons, the muttering of the men and the snuffling of the horses. Aragorn shut it all out effortlessly, a skill developed long ago in his boyhood under the tutelage of Lord Elrond, a skill he had never appreciated so fully until this day.

For in reality the day was broiling under the summer sun, Anor at her golden zenith and blasting the land with breath hot enough to rival a dragon's. That glorious azure sky looked faded, washed out under the influence of so much glaring light. The air was heavy with moisture and hard to breathe, the heat drawing off unseen vapour from the Anduin's sluggish surface now so far away. It was true no beasts chattered, no birds sang, but insects filled the void with their whirring, buzzing noises: bees droning through the clover, cicadas rattling in their carapaces. As for the small band of horsemen crossing this vast and empty place, they languished in misery beneath cloaks and armour and helms, sweating, skin itchy and beards damp. Their words did not extoll the beauty of their lands but more readily cursed the heat, the humidity, and the insects prone to bite.

The only ones not over-dressed were Aragorn and Legolas, yet they suffered in a different way. Aragorn felt the heat beating down upon his torso and somewhere in the practical part of his mind knew he would be burned red by sundown, if he wasn't already. Even Legolas' skin was becoming rosy and the tips of his ears were already blistering. He was not going to be a contented, happy Wood Elf when the group finally stopped for the night. That was unfortunate, for it was not Legolas' fault that he was so exposed but he was the one who would surely be burnt the worst of all. Aragorn wished he'd had time to search for athelas in Fangorn, thinking a cool infusion sponged over the archer's skin would provide relief.

Aragorn pushed these ideas away for imagining bathing Legolas' svelte physique was not the way to maintain detachment, and he was determined to remain in his mental seclusion as long as possible, an interval delimited by the amount of time the group remained dismounted. Once another riding period began, Aragorn would end up perched behind his sylvan friend as before, though he had come near to begging to have the forward seat on the mare's back. Pride forbade it and he was left to appreciate a new set of environmental factors, for while the erotic dream had not repeated, it had left an apparently indelible mark on the Man's libido.

Almost immediately he would become intensely aware of the smooth and supple warmth of the archer's waist beneath his palms, the radiant beauty of Legolas' hair, the very smell of him. He would become thoroughly distracted by the proximity os his crotch to Legolas' arse; every step Tuilelindô took would rock the firm rump against him and vice versa, the result of this pleasing friction being an intractable erection that the ellon seemed to find rather amusing. Numerous were the jokes he'd already uttered, thankfully in Sindarin and too softly to be overheard by the others. The man was beginning to tire of being asked if he was having a hard time remaining seated, whether his muscles were stiffening up under the strain of constant riding, whether he was familiar with riding from behind and did he prefer that position, and so on. Aragorn was dreading the moment when he would have to face Legolas alone in their tent.

As for Legolas, he observed the Man with interest and a benignly possessive pride, deciding Aragorn's quietude was nearly the equivalent of elvish reverie. Perhaps, when they mounted up again, he would let Aragorn sit in front and allow him to experience the thrill of knowing his effect on Legolas was at least as powerful as Legolas' effect on him. To refrain from actively encouraging that obvious interest, the archer had been forced to resort to silly attempts at humour, which remained in the realm of the juvenile he was forced to admit. It was just too difficult to come up with anything sophisticated and mature when there was a hugely hard penis rubbing against his rear end every second. Keeping his own rising interest hidden under the meagre loin cloth without making his struggle evident to everyone around them was a seriously distressing task. Still, he was anticipating the privacy the night would accord them with great relish.

"Mount up!" called Selwyn loudly and his men hastened to obey. Everyone was eager to reach their destination and get the trial over with. The Sheriff scrutinised his troop sharply; the Wood Elf was having a detrimental impact upon discipline, making his soldiers uneasy, argumentative, and uncharacteristically skittish. He almost wished for a band of Orcs to hunt down so to get their minds off the prisoners. This was the second day of the journey and tension was building, mostly because of the elf's disturbing behaviour at night. Apparently, he didn't sleep and had startled his guard by popping out of the tent in the deep of darkness to ask for water.

 _At least there was no repeat of the unnervingly amorous grunts and groans from Thorongil. Inconsiderate, that, him being the only one with a partner._

Instead, it had been the elf, according to the titillated guard, who'd moaned oh so softly through Ithil's hours, the sounds interwoven with an eery, ethereal song. The man swore he had not peeked and Selwyn believed him, for the sylvan was not likely to have taken such an invasion of privacy quietly.

The Sheriff's attention was drawn to the subject of his musing, Legolas' and Thorongil's voices slightly raised as the two bickered about something, still on the ground beside the horse. He nudged heel to side and clicked his tongue and his charger glided closer. "What is amiss? We need to move on a bit; there's a spring I want to reach before nightfall. There's a good camp there with trees and a small lake of clean water." He offered them a guarded smile, hoping to hurry things along without sounding too demanding. Since the elf's fearful outburst, Selwyn had decided not to do anything to antagonise him, finding he was not inclined to make this fair creature bear the responsibility for the crimes others of his kind might have committed. It wasn't right; he had never demanded justice so severe from any man accused of wrong.

"Everything is fine," insisted Thorongil briskly, sporting a frantic smile, his features pinched up in an expression of acute embarrassment. "We will be ready in a moment." His desire to be left alone could not be more evident.

"Just get on her, Kalrô," fussed Legolas. "You may take the forward position this time."

"I've reconsidered; I do not want the forward position. Let us continue as we were; that has worked just fine."

"She is my horse and I want the rear position this trip." Legolas was not pleased, having realised Kalrô must have figured out why he was so eager for the switch now when before he had denied the man's request.

"Why? She only obeys you anyway." Aragorn felt his face growing warm and had no doubt his cheeks were aflame. Why wouldn't Selwyn go back to the head of the ranks and let them sort this out?

"I do not need to be in front to communicate with her," argued Legolas. "Besides, she has grown to trust you."

Selwyn watched this with amusement, eyes moving from one to the other as the exchange continued. If this was not a lover's quarrel, he didn't know the meaning of the terms. A smile tried to overtake his stern expression and he fought it, failing when Thorongil glanced in his direction, misery in his eyes. "Get on the horse, Thorongil," he said, "or I'll trade with you, if you prefer. You may ride my stallion and I'll ride behind yourfriend."

"No!" Man and Elf shouted together and scowled at each other.

"Get _up_ , Kalrô," hissed the Wood Elf, shoving him a bit.

"I am!" barked Aragorn, glaring as he shoved back. "Stand aside; I do not need help." He hauled himself onto Tuilelindô's withers and reached a hand down to Legolas, but the ellon leapt unaided behind him, sidling close and wrapping his arms about the man's chest. Aragorn sighed in resignation as Legolas' chin came to rest atop his shoulder.

"There, that wasn't so hard after all," whispered Legolas, a devilish light in his eyes when the Man turned and peered at him.

"Finally," laughed Selwyn. He led off but did not depart from the mare's side, choosing instead to torment Thorongil a little. "He is rather demanding, yes?" The man opened his mouth to retort but Legolas beat him to it.

"I am, in fact, being quite accommodating," he said, the words glazed with smug satisfaction.

"How much longer till we reach this camp site?" Aragorn decided a change of topic was in order.

"Not long; the horses can manage a steady trot for the distance left. We've made excellent progress thus far," the Sheriff said, deciding to be merciful.

"And these men we seek," Legolas said, "can you know for certain they are where you expect to find them? Have you no means to send a message there and ensure they await us?"

"They would not leave the Wold without letting me know it," answered Selwyn. "I've had no word of such; they will be there." The elf was certainly eager to begin his trial, a fact the Sheriff found suspicious. Was he planning some clever bit of magic to mask the truth? Was it possible to so ensorcel a man as to command his speech? Selwyn's mirthful mood was spoiled by these worries and abruptly he cantered away, calling orders for an increase in speed to a steady jog.

"Elbereth, I thought he'd never go," grumbled Aragorn, shifting to try and gain a little distance from Legolas' encircling embrace. Or rather, from the sensation of tight little nipples pressing into his bare back. _Best to quench this fire while it is yet a spark._ "Mellon, isn't it too hot for such close contact?" he suggested as diplomatically as possible and felt the change in Legolas' mood through his body. Where he had been relaxed, leaning his full weight against Aragorn, now he sat up and scooted back, removed his hold completely.

"I see," Legolas complained. "Your reaction is involuntary and at odds with your true nature, then. Is there someone else or is it because I'm a Wood Elf?"

"Nay, I don'tyou are very enticing, but we mustn't, Legolas."

"Because I am elf-kind and you are human?"

"Yes." There was a moment of silence filled with the archer's dour disappointment and he issued a quiet sigh. Aragorn felt terrible. "I am sorry; I did not mean to mislead you. It is difficult to control myself when"

"No need to say more, please," Legolas pleaded and slipped from the mare's back, loping along beside her so that he was level with her head. He raised a hand and gathered the strands of her mane within his grasp as he ran.

"Ai!" Aragorn was shocked, for Legolas had only just recovered his health, and looked around to see if any of the men had noticed this development. As yet they appeared ignorant, so he bent low over Tuilelindô's neck. "Legolas, this is not meet. Please, she is your horse. If one of us must go afoot, it should be me."

"How ridiculous," snorted Legolas. "You could not keep up, echil, and I have no wish to inspire sensations which you find repugnant."

"Ai Valar," groaned Aragorn. "I do not find them repugnant, just a bit inappropriate. Mellon, I meant no offence, but we have this trial to get through and then you and I will part company. As friends, I hope."

"What of the bond of life over death? Is this meaningless to you?"

"Of course not, I will cherish that unique connection till the end of my days."

"Ah." _'Cherish', what can this word mean to him if it includes rejection of that very bond?_

"What? Legolas, how can you think we would become more than friends when we hardly know anything about one another?"

"On the contrary, we know quite a lot, all the important things, principally that you have no desire to deepen the bond we enjoined. So be it! I am not so desperate that I will fade because you say no, echil. Now, since the matter is settled, may we stop discussing it?" Legolas cast a disparaging glare over his shoulder.

"Fine. Since we have finished discussing it, will you get on the horse now? If Selwyn or his men see you running, it might be misinterpreted as an attempt to escape." Though his words were clipped and terse, a horrible sense of loss overtook Aragorn's heart. Never had he felt so empty and he could not shake the idea that he had just wilfully declined what would have been the most fulfilling relationship of his life. _But that life is short while his will span time beyond counting. I cannot subject him to eternal grieving merely to satisfy my own longing._

"As you wish; wouldn't want to give the mortals a scare like that." The sarcastic response was followed by Legolas' light vault onto Tuilelindô's back.

So attuned were elf and horse that he rode without need to steady his seat by holding to Aragorn. There was absolutely no point of contact between their bodies and this he found profoundly depressing. For an instant he saw his life wind out before his eyes, a lonely existence of service and sacrifice, lacking any heart within which to shelter. A heavy sigh exhaled from this despondent vision and he immediately took hold of himself, banishing the self-pitying mood. Worse than this man's refusal he had already survived. He breathed deeply of the clean, fresh air, not minding the high moisture content at all, and burst into song, choosing a hymn to the Lady Arien and her glorious charge.

So joyous was this song that all spirits were lifted and the men's dissatisfaction diminished. The journey progressed with less grumbling and grousing, but the soldiers could not credit their prisoner with the change and underneath their harmonious accord lurked a superstitious unwillingness to trust their positive reactions.

The spring-fed meadow was all Selwyn had promised and more, and as the day waned so did the stifling heat and humidity. The place was a cool refuge from the sun-baked plains, shaded by a copse of willows. This deep into the horse-lords' realm, there was little danger of Orcs or other enemies and the land radiated peace and plenty. The men of Rohan needed no urging to throw off their gear and dive into the small lake for a swim; the mood of the camp soon assumed a jovial air. Legolas, eager to clean himself and especially his hair, also waded into the shallows, but remained apart from the soldiers and their raucous rough-housing. Aragorn joined the swimming, but positioned himself where he could keep watch over Legolas, fearing trouble should the Rohirrim get too close.

Of course, the trouble would be due to his desire to prevent anyone else having Legolas when he could not, but this was not something the Man could admit to himself. And when trouble arose, it was Aragorn who caused it.

Legolas finished his wash and retreated to a spot in the last rays of the setting sun to dry himself and work the tangles from his dripping hair. Though his heart was heavy he ignored its ponderous weight and focused on the beauty of the little dell, thinking it was much like a favoured spot back home, a place where he and his Naneth would go in his childhood days. There they could enjoy the open sunlight, gathering flowers in spring, watching ducks and their ducklings paddle about, fishing for tadpoles and silvery minnows with a gossamer net. Once he fell in, too intent upon capturing a particularly stunning fish with golden scales to be careful, and his mother pulled him out soaked through, laughing, saying she had never caught so large a fish before. The memory made him smile and Legolas once again found the means to express his feelings through song.

Aragorn turned, recognising this as a common children's counting song, one he had learned at his mother's knee, too. Pleased to note Legolas' whimsical disposition, he was about to join in when he realised the soldiers had ceased their splashing to listen. The gaiety of the playful afternoon lapsed into a gentler, genial brand of nostalgia and the men began leaving the lake, quietly drying off and donning pants and shirts, began a slow, cautious convergence on the Wood Elf's location. At first alarmed, Aragorn hastily got out of the water and into his trousers, still wet as an otter, but even as he trotted to get between Legolas and this mass of men they started settling on the ground, a healthy distance separating them from the Wood Elf. He slowed, catching Selwyn's eye who apparently had the same idea as he. The Sheriff motioned him closer and the man went, casting a glance to Legolas, who remained reposed in the moss, seemingly oblivious to the effect he was having.

"This singing, it is no threat to my people is it?" asked Selwyn, feeling the lure of the fair voice as much as the rest of the horsemen.

"Nay, it is a child's melody. Any magic in it is composed of the countless innocent voices who have sung it through the Ages," Aragorn smiled. "The language is his own, but the tune must be universal, for all of us are now thinking back on those days of sweet simplicity when the world was defined by the security of a mother's love."

"Aye," Selwyn nodded, unable to prevent smiling either. He cocked his head to the side and studied Thorongil. "I understand your attraction to the elf," he said. "The quarrel is settled?"

"It is," Aragorn could not hide the regret in his heart and saw the Sheriff's bewildered curiosity. "It is wrong for a mortal to engage the heart of an immortal; I have made him know we will not remain together once this is all settled."

"I see," Selwyn's brows rose. "We, too, deem such a relationship immoral, but your reasons could not be the same as ours. Even so, I wonder if he will let you go."

"There is no sorcery involved," sighed Aragorn wearily. He was about to elaborate in hopes of convincing the Sheriff when several low and frightened voices reached his ears. Both men turned to find that one of the horsemen had approached Legolas, flouting the admonishing cries of his cronies to offer the nearly naked elf his cloak. Aragorn was off in a flash, Selwyn at his heels.

"doesn't seem right. Take it and welcome; I have clothing aplenty and you have none," the man was saying. One of the guards assigned to watch over the prisoners through the night, it was he who had reported hearing the elf's quiet expressions of passion. Younger than the others, he was perhaps more impressionable, or less cynical, and had failed to report to Selwyn the conversation he and Legolas had shared along with the water. Now, he was less than convinced the Wood ELf was capable of the cold-blooded deeds of which he'd been accused.

"My thanks, Caedmon." Legolas smiled as he accepted the cloak. It was not so fine as others he had owned, but given with genuine felicity he could not ignore. "I would rather have your bow, for a short time only and only for hunting, but the cape is much appreciated." To prove it, Legolas cast it about him, by habit tossing it over his right shoulder and under his left arm so that he clasped it at the sternum, leaving his arms freedom to draw a weapon he did not have. He gathered the trailing edge of the cape, made with it a sweeping bow to his benefactor.

"Suits you," Caedmon laughed, folding his arms over his chest. "You know I cannot let you"

"What is going on here?" demanded Aragorn, placing himself firmly in the space between them, fiery eyes ricocheting from Legolas to the guard and back.

"Nothing," said Legolas calmly, "as you can see. We are talking."

"Caedmon! Get away from him; he seeks a new target for his seductive sorcery," Selwyn ordered in anxious tones, fearing he was already too late. Thorongil's admission of his efforts to resist the elf's allure convinced him of Legolas' powers. While that did not necessarily imply his guilt in the other issue, trying to snare another unsuspecting admirer was not promising.

"Aye, sir," the guard paled as he considered this warning and glanced warily at Legolas. He saw there the elf's exasperated anger and surprised himself by deciding to challenge his superior. "Sir, I do not feel any sort of amorous desire. We are just friendly together in the common way of comrades in arms."

"That is almost exactly what Thorongil claimed at first, yet today admitted the relationship was more serious," Selwyn pointed out. "This is the subtlety of the enchantment; he makes you like him first. Even I have felt that pull." The more Selwyn thought about it, the more reasonable this notion seemed. Even one so mighty as Thorongil was susceptible to the comely elf.

"Has it ever occurred to you," snapped Legolas, "that I actually am a likeable person?"

"However gullible you may deem these men, do not treat me like a fool, Legolas," growled Aragorn. "This Caedmon obviously finds you more than friendly. What are you trying to accomplish?" The idea that perhaps the ellon meant to incite his jealousy crossed his mind, but he failed to see that his jealousy was his own responsibility.

"Nay, I" Caedmon's rebuttal was over-ridden by the elf's furious eruption.

"I am trying to show these men that I am not someone to fear. What are you doing, discussing our private affairs with that Sheriff?" He jabbed a forefinger in Selwyn's direction. "You have given him a new angle on his fixation with magical spells."

By now the rest of the soldiers were on their feet, crowding closer. "It's the singing," one shouted out, making the warding sign and backing away.

"He's weaving the spells with music!" exclaimed another.

"Silence him!" several men clamoured at once. "Gag him!" and the others took up the demand.

"Quiet! Quiet down, all of you!" bellowed Selwyn. He scowled at his troop in irritation and transferred this expression to Legolas as he addressed Thorongil. "They have a valid point; he's always singing."

"Elves of every kind are forever singing," argued Aragorn, sorry he'd said anything to Selwyn about his feelings for Legolas.

"Song is the first of all languages," said the archer. "Before anything else existed, the Music of the Ainur described all we see and much we still do not. From it, Iluvatar distilled the world, its speaking peoples, and all its lesser living things. To accuse me of perverting that most holy of gifts given to the First-born, that of expressing the true leanings of the soul through song, is more despicable than the killing laid at my feet."

"We know nothing of this Music," scoffed Selwyn. "Iluvatar made the Powers, the Powers crafted Arda to His design. Seems yours is a likely tale invented to fit your immediate need. If you are innocent of this charge, you will not object to a little insurance for our benefit." The Sheriff turned to Thorongil, a motion of his chin indicating Legolas. "Gag him," said he and walked away, herding his men along. "Set camp and build fire. Caedmon, Beldon see what game you can scare up for a meal." With a last glance over his shoulder at the elf and a pointed glare at Thorongil, Selwyn went to arrange his own quarters for the night.

"You will not do this," warned Legolas, furious with Aragorn.

"I'm sorry, Legolas, but if I don't there may be worse trouble. They may decide to bind you," the man said, remorse in every syllable.

"Convince them otherwise!" he fumed. "I have done nothing to warrant this indignity and well you know it! It was a child's counting song, for Manwë's sake!"

"Yes, yes, I told Selwyn this," nodded Aragorn. "He is suspicious because of the guard's sudden interest in befriending you."

"Nay, he is suspicious because _you_ got so riled about Caedmon's noble gesture and because you had obviously repeated our conversation about the bond we share." Legolas looked ready to attack and contained himself with effort, cheeks flushed and eyes glittering with menace. "I cannot believe you would discuss so personal a matter with someone you hardly know. Were you brought up by trolls?"

"I only said"

"I don't care what words you used," spat Legolas. "You told him you have rejected me and now he believes I am fishing this little pond for a replacement." His hand shot out toward the knot of uneasy men erecting their tents. "I was making progress, too. They would have shed their irrational superstitions before annûn tomorrow. All of this, Kalrô, _all_ of it is your fault. Ai! A curse upon Mithrandir's cryptic speech. I have made a horrible error; you cannot be the one he meant."

He stalked away into the trees and easily leapt into the branches of the tallest, climbing to the upper-most limbs in seconds. Though his heart was much moved to vent the pain of this new insult in song, he remained still and silent. It was true he had worked to encourage Caedmon's friendship but nothing more. Unlike Aragorn, he was reluctant to accept the severing of their bond and it would be long years before he would be prepared to attempt another like it.

He had simply hoped to get his hands on the guard's bow and quiver. Should the worst happen, he was going to need more than a dagger to get free of these people. Aragorn's jealous reaction had ruined that chance and now he looked upon the willows in despair. No matter how willing they were to be of aid, the wood of such trees was not suitable for constructing a bow even if he had the time to do it. Never before had Legolas wished he had the power to bewitch. If he could, he would cast over them all a deep sleep such as the waters of the Enchanted River produced and make his escape.

Aragorn remained beneath the tree where Legolas was perched. From time to time he tried to draw him out on the references to the wizard, but Legolas remained mute. At dusk, Selwyn arrived and traded heated words with the man, threatening to have his soldiers cut down the tree if the elf did not come down. That prompted Legolas to hurl down a rain of curses in his ancient tongue so potent they made Aragorn flinch even though he could not decipher the exact words. The Sheriff grew pale and demanded to know what heinous punishment had been rendered. Then Legolas answered in Westron:

"Look upon your green lands and weep, oh horse-lord, for Rohan will face a foe more terrible than any she has ever encountered. The danger comes not from elves but from a trusted ally. Darkness will cloud the thoughts and blind the eyes of your King and Theoden's own mouth shall deliver you to this tormentor. Rohan will burn, overrun by Orcs, Uruks, and evil men. Yet, maybe trees will save you before the end and thus no living wood should be cut or burned henceforth."

Everyone heard him. Everyone felt a creeping pall at this prophesy, and even Aragorn was speechless in its wake.

The night passed in uneasy stages.

  
Dawn arrived in cool, silvery splendour, a mist arising from the pond and rolling over the grass heavy with dew. The men awoke in this sparkling fog and emerged from their tents to find Thorongil asleep in damp and shivering misery beneath the tree, Legolas out in the meadow with his horse, whispering in her ear. They were afraid to approach him and summoned Selwyn, who nudged Thorongil rudely with his toe.

"Get him," he ordered brusquely.

"Aye," said Aragorn, rising at once, "but what of my request about the gag? I swear to you he will make no sound, even as the night heard nothing from him. And see, he might have tried to flee but there he is. What say you, Selwyn?"

"He said enough yesterday for all time to come," rebuked the Sheriff of the East Wold, "and he didn't run because he knows any of my horses is more than a match for his. My order stands: he is to remain gagged until the trial is over. Only in this way can I be certain he is not influencing what the witnesses say."

Legolas heard all this and mounted Tuilelindô, directing her to join the men. He had spent Ithil's hours regretting his spontaneous pronouncement of doom upon these people but realised he could not unsay it now. His rash outburst had caused the guards to remain more diligent and more cautious, removing his hope of escaping in the night while they slept. He had come to the decision that he had no choice but to comply with Selwyn's demand, determined for his own reasons to know the truth of what had happened between Rohan and Greenwood. Still, he made one last attempt to convince the Sheriff the gag was unnecessary. All the men dropped back behind their leader as he leaped to the ground and even Selwyn took a step back and presented the warding sign before him. Legolas shook his head, a rueful smile upon his lips.

"Sir, you must surely know by now that this gesture," he made it himself to gasps all around, "has no means to limit my actions. Be that as it may, I ask that you rescind this demand to forcibly silence me. I swear to you on all I hold most sacred, that being the soul of my departed mother, that I will utter neither speech nor song nor any noise of any kind, from now until you say otherwise. Kalrô shall be my voice, if he so agrees, or you may name another if you doubt him or he refuses."

"I would not refuse, Legolas," said the man, hurt.

"Well spoken, but unacceptable," answered the Sheriff. "For all I know, you have called down Mordor upon us and if not, well, I am unwilling to give you the opportunity to do so. Comply willingly and show me a sign of your good character."

"So be it," Legolas shrugged, arms folded over his heart, "though I have had no like sign of yours."

"You are not bound; that is your sign," barked Selwyn angrily, but he could not hold the elf's compelling eyes and abruptly wheeled and stalked away. He called out orders to his men and readied his stallion, forbearing to watch the execution of his order, for the Wood Elf's fury was a palpable thing swirling through the lifting mist.

"Well, do your duty, Kalrô" Legolas mocked and met the man's contrite eyes with sadness in his. He was not sure he could forgive Aragorn's many mistakes.

"I would spare you this if I could," insisted Aragorn, holding up the kerchief Selwyn had thrust into his hands during the argument the night before.

"You could have spared me this," reminded Legolas, "and yet still I hear no apology from you. When this is all done, I am going to find this mother of yours and learn what sort of woman taught you to be such a lummox."

"I am sorry," pleaded Aragorn settling the cloth between Legolas' opened jaws and tying the ends loosely behind. "There, it is no more than a token gag and it is your own decision to abide by this condition or not."

Legolas' eyes blazed with disbelieving fury at this and he bit hard into the cloth to keep from speaking his retort. He mounted Tuilelindo, but when Aragorn made to join him shoved him aside roughly with his foot. Grimly he pointed to the Sheriff and guided the mare away.

Aragorn spent the day's journey trading rides from one horseman to another but not once did Legolas permit him even to walk beside him. Not even water would he take from Kalrô's hands and it was the Sheriff who had seen to this necessity instead. By mid-afternoon they crossed some unobtrusive marker and Selwyn sent two riders ahead to make his visit and its purpose known, calling a halt. Aragorn hurried to his side, seeing that Legolas' mare was flanked by two of the more unsympathetic soldiers.

"If he is to be guarded thus, let you be his guardian. Those men have hope for nothing more than to see him condemned," he said urgently. "They will use any excuse to do him injury."

"Then let him be mindful of his actions," advised Selwyn, but he agreed with Thorongil and called away his soldiers. He put Caedmon in the place of one and took the second's himself, carrying Aragorn with him to the elf's side. "Here is the one who would speak for you; will you shun him still?"

Legolas shook his head and motioned Aragorn over, sliding forward once more, but he offered no help and twisted away from the man's touch once he mounted, glaring darkly over his shoulder.

"So be it; I will refrain from touching you," said Aragorn. "Despite this enmity between us, I will not desert you nor fail to defend you in this trial. I will be a true voice for you, Legolas." The Wood Elf exhaled a snort from his nostrils and urged Tuilelindô into step beside the Sheriff's steed.

The two messengers met them on the way and declared the two brothers, Bjorn and Ari, were due back from the plains where they had gone to inspect the growth of the new foals born that spring. Both men's wives pledged the hospitality of their husbands' hearths and invited the Sheriff's patrol to cross into their lands. With this permission granted, Selwyn and his troop set forth at a faster pace than they had used before, desiring to reach the farmstead before dark. The horsemen cantered into the tidy stable yard and dismounted as two young lads, no more than ten or so, ran out from the barn to stare in awe at the Riders of the Mark and their Sheriff. Their eyes alit on the strange pair astride the barebacked mare and their eyes expanded to monumental proportions. The heroes of the Wold were forgotten in an instant and the boys ran for the house, calling for their mother.

The men were not surprised by this and ignored the boys, but Legolas was deeply affected and remained on his mare, staring after them, his face transformed in planes of both sorrow and anger. Aragorn, glancing up to see what delayed him, looked where his gaze was directed and wondered why the humble house warranted such intense concentration.

"Legolas, what is it? Do you know this place?" He watched the elf shake his head and slip to the ground. He held his hand at waist height and then pointed at the window where a face peered out from behind the curtains. The gap shut the instant Aragorn turned to see. "The children?" he asked and now Legolas nodded grimly. "How can you know these people, Legolas, when you have not been here before? Were you part of the elvish party that met the Rohirrim?" A negative motion and an exasperated sigh was all the reply Legolas could give.

"What's all this?" Selwyn asked, having observed the interaction. Before Aragorn could begin to explain, the door of the house opened and two women emerged.

"Welcome, Selwyn, and be at home. I am Hjördís, wife to Bjorn, and this is Brynja, wife to Ari." Like all the women of Rohan, she was tall and looked as strong as the men, long golden hair braided down her back and a sturdy apron over her dress. It would not have been surprising to see a sword belted round her waist and her sharp blue eyes dissected the group quickly. She exhaled a quick breath, focusing on the half dressed man and the elf beside him and tried to hide her alarm behind anger. Her arm flew out, pointing. "Why have you brought this tarkil (Numenorean) and that raza (stranger) into our holding?"

Beside her, Brynja was staring in open misery at the elf, their vision fused and their minds roiling with this incomprehensible occurrence: that she should find in her courtyard an elf so like the one described to her it must be him, that he should see in her child's face the countenance of evil.

"I think you know why," answered Selwyn, eyes flicking to the silent woman. "When is your husband to return, good-wife Brynja?"

She tore her sight from Legolas and faced the Sheriff, but she could not bring herself to speak and abruptly fled back inside, slamming the door behind her. The men murmured uneasily, for this was not the welcome they expected and it forebode some dread truth lay at the core of their fears. Aragorn shared an almost triumphant smile with Legolas which faded under the weight of evident sorrow. He shook his head and pointed again to the window where the little face was watching. Aragorn peered at the boy and felt his heart clench; the child's stare was empty, unseeing; the look of a mind so shocked by trauma that it was not there.

"Oh, forgive her, Sheriff," Hjördís offered a wan smile, "there has been sickness in the house and"

"Spare us your lies," snapped Selwyn. "It is obvious she fears the prisoners I have brought. Now, that is understandable enough. What I find strange is why you would try to deceive me about it."

Hjördís' back stiffened and she glared through narrowed eyes but made no answer to this charge. "We will set up planks in the yard and bring food," she said coldly and stalked regally back inside, cutting a deadly glare at Aragorn and making the warding sign at Legolas.

The soldiers helped her with the work and soon a steaming cauldron adorned the crude table, the aroma from it rich and hearty, and beside it a platter heaped with round loaves of flat bread. Every cup and bowl in the house was brought out and every utensil for eating as well, but there was still not enough. The men assured her they would manage, eager for the hot, home-cooked stew, and wasted no time emptying the pot. They sat on the dusty ground and wolfed down the meal with little talk, but Legolas refused to eat. He remained standing, eyes on the fields beyond the house, tense and expectant.

Time passed; the soldiers cleared away the clutter of the meal and put away the rough boards, sat and filled their pipes with tobacco Hjördís offered. Dusk settled in the yard and still there was no sign of the brothers. Hjördís stood by, arms folded across her breast, sullen, silent, and belligerent.

At last Selwyn stood and motioned four of his men up also. "Go find them and bring them back."

"They will be along, probably by morning," insisted the woman. "You are welcome to set your camp in the paddock there." She pointed behind the Sheriff.

"You are most gracious," said Selwyn, "and we will do as you suggest. But my men will go now and bring your men folk home to you."

The soldiers were readying their mounts when Legolas shifted, his hearing having picked up the sound of an approaching horse, and tapped Aragorn on the shoulder. He pointed in the direction of the sound and then held up his index finger: only one rider was coming in. It was not long before the others heard it, too, and all rose to watch the horse cantering down the lane. Hjördís sighed and glanced at the house, but the door remained shut and the windows dark, save for the one in the kitchen. When she looked back it was into the grim face of her husband. Bjorn made a small shake of his head as he dismounted, eyed the elf with alarm, and came to the Sheriff.

"Hail, Selwyn of the East Wold, and welcome to my hearth. I trust my good-wife has shown you the proper hospitality," he said and Legolas found his control admirable, though he could easily discern the fear and sorrow in every syllable.

"She has, Bjorn," nodded Selwyn, extending his arm in warrior's salute. "Where is Ari? I am here on an important matter as you must guess by the nature of these two strangers."

"Aye, it's about that raid two summers back." Bjorn grimaced and rubbed his jaw, shooting a speculative gaze at Aragorn, wondering over his appearance and what his presence beside the elf could mean.

"Well, where is he?" Caedmon prompted.

"What? Ah, yes, Ari. Ari is not coming in. He has gone from Rohan for a time."

"Gone? Where and why has he gone," demanded Selwyn. "Any trade expedition is to be registered with me listing the number and sex of the horses going out. Why has Ari disobeyed this rule?" The answer was obvious to all: there was no trade expedition.

"He's run off!" exclaimed Aragorn, indignant. "Only a guilty man would flee before even knowing the nature of your visit."

"Perhaps. What say you to this, Bjorn?" asked Selwyn.

"I don't know what has come over him of late," admitted Bjorn, sighing. "He's been "

"You hold your tongue, Bjorn," snapped his wife. "Ari is not here to speak and none can speak for him. Don't you forget those children in there."

"That won't do," said Selwyn. "This is a serious matter and the fate of two nations may rest upon the answers we seek. Does Rohan need more enemies to fight? If Bjorn knows something, he must speak or relent to my arrest. He will answer me or he will answer Theoden King."

Legolas nudged Aragorn and motioned again at the house; the man understood. "There are those who might speak for Ari: his wife-mate Brynja and the older boy."

"No!" shouted Hjördís. "Don't you drag those wee ones into this horror. Who are you to say who should speak and who should not?"

"He is Thorongil, a name maybe you have heard even this far from Edoras," intoned Selwyn, watching her intake of breath and disbelieving scrutiny of the man.

"Hunh! How can this be the hero whose arm drew sword beside our beloved Thengel King? He is some rogue, some beggar!" scoffed the woman. "And there is the reason you have fallen prey to so ludicrous a farce." She pointed at Legolas. "You brought that thing in here, knowing I lost my brother in that raid, and it is that very creature that has swayed your mind to these lies and"

"Enough, woman!" Selwyn cut her off. "I understand your rage and thus are we here, seeking the truth that justice may be served. Ari has much to tell of this, yet he has departed, fled while we sat and ate and enjoyed the hospitality of his house, while his good-wife cowered behind closed doors. He has had a fine head start, it seems to me."

"We can catch him up, Sir," insisted Caedmon. "Beldon and I have the swiftest stallions."

"Aye, go get him," nodded Selwyn.

"Wait," said Bjorn, defeat in his voice. "He has more of a start than you know. My brother left us some four days ago and he means never to return to Rohan."

A general commotion of consternation and bewilderment swept through the group. Hjördís cursed her husband with quiet disgust and stalked back into the house, slamming the door with a reverberating crash. Caedmon and Beldon exchanged disbelieving glances, ready to ride out anyway. Selwyn heaved a sigh and rubbed a hand across his brow, scowling at Bjorn. Aragorn watched Legolas' eyes flash in anger, his body tense and poised for action, fists curled tight at his sides. He was biting the gag so hard it would likely be cut through there. Into this confusion came the sound of the cottage door opening again and all eyes turned to see Brynja on the porch, a babe propped on her hip, her face a fractured display of grief and fear.

"It is truth you want," she said solemnly, "and that is right, for lies have been invented to cover a thing unspeakable, a thing that places Rohan under the doom of the Elven King in Mirkwood."

"Valar! Speak, woman!" exhorted Aragorn, sure her words must exonerate Legolas and his people.

"I know the truth," she repeated as though the man had not spoken, "and so does Bjorn, but we were afraid to speak out before. We are alone out here, and there are the children"

"Afraid of what, good-wife?" asked Selwyn gently, realising the woman was in a sort of shock.

"Of Ari." It was Bjorn who answered him, head hanging low. "He changed after the raid and this is not the first time he has gone from us. When he came back the last time, he was no longer the brother I used to tease and jest with. I don't know what he is, but he is not Ari anymore."

"What do you mean?" demanded one of the soldiers. "Are you saying he fell prey to some enchantment or dark sorcery?"

"Aye, did the elves put a spell on him?" another asked.

"Sorcery, aye, so it must be," Brynja murmured and the idea seemed to grant her a measure of peace. "That must be what happened to my Ari."

"Hear her!" shouted a soldier. "She confirms our suspicions. That is more than enough proof; I say we render judgement now!"

"Be quiet!" ordered Selwyn. "This proves nothing. Bjorn, we came here to learn what you saw on that trade expedition. Tell us of the raid."

"I never saw it," Bjorn shrugged, "for I went as part of the delegation to the Mirkwood King." There were numerous groans and complaints all around but Aragorn interrupted them at Legolas' urging.

"You and your brother were the chosen emissaries?"

"No, he stayed with the herd," the horseman stared at the ragged man with the compelling eyes and shifted his gaze to Legolas next. A shudder worked through him. "By the Powers, it is the very one!" he whispered, pale, and a fine sheen of sweat smeared his forehead.

Selwyn did not miss the words and strode over to the man, took him at the shoulders and shook him roughly. "Explain, Bjorn! Did that elf kill our people? Was he there at the raid?"

"Nay, the elf was not at the raid. He was in the Black Tower," Brynja said simply, staring at Legolas with wide, watery eyes. "I am sorry; he was not like this always. Once he was a good man, truly he was!" She burst into tears and buried her face in her apron, crouched low in obvious anguish. The babe began to wail in kind. The door opened behind her and Hjördís came out, took the infant and settled her against a shoulder, reached for Brynja and drew her inside, passed a severe glower over the men gathered in the gloaming, shut the door without so much as a click of the latch.

The woman's outburst stirred the soldiers to discomfort, for why should she beg pardon of the elf on her husband's behalf? How could Ari know anything of who was imprisoned in Dol Guldur? How could she? They began to realise the injustice was not what they had thought it to be. As for Legolas he bowed his head, for he felt her sorrow and would show her kindness, sparing her this, sparing the children but for the wrong done to his people. Seeing his distress and perceiving an inkling of the truth, Aragorn set a consoling hand upon the ellon's shoulder and squeezed. They shared a silent moment of grim hatred for the Shadow behind all this strife.

"Bjorn, it falls to you to explain this change in your brother," the Sheriff said.

"Begin with the day of the raid," interposed Aragorn, for there was the root of the conflict.

"So be it," nodded Bjorn and sighed. "We went to see the Elven King, leaving Ari and the others behind with the horses. The elves were suspicious of us at first and asked many questions, surprised by our visit, it seemed to me, though Ari had assured us the folk of Lorien would send word ahead." He stopped, for Legolas was shaking his head vehemently.

Aragorn took his cue. "You mean there was no message from Lord Celeborn?" he asked Legolas and received confirmation in another vigourous negation.

"By the stars," groaned Selwyn. "Continue, Bjorn."

"Aye. Sten and I spent two days convincing the elves to trust us and even then they were skittish. I think they felt something was off but I had no inking of my brother's plans and so maybe they were fooled because of that." The man had to stop and compose himself. Presently he went on. "It took time for me to understand, you see." He was addressing Legolas. "I just couldn't accept it." His face contorted in misery and he tore his eyes from the elf, facing Selwyn in almost angry bewilderment. "Why is he gagged like that? It isn't right."

"Why isn't it right, Bjorn? We need to hear the truth," Aragorn pressed him. "Tell us the rest."

"Aye, aye," the man nodded, inhaling deeply to calm his nerves. "So, we convinced them to come out to the camp and trade for our horses. This one was there and he was all set to come along, but at the last minute his King called him back and another went in his place." He indicated Legolas and all eyes turned to him. The elf gave a short nod to confirm it, arms folded up over his heart and features set in a cold, expressionless mask. Bjorn resumed speaking.

"The elves were happy, singing songs and excited to see the horses, especially the Golden Lady. She was high-born and all deferred to her, but she was not haughty, laughing and singing and asking me about the horses in a fair voice, her accent pleasing to the ears. She told me her name but I could not pronounce it and this amused her."

This description wrung a pained groan from the elf and Legolas turned away, pacing the yard and tearing at his hair, shaking his head, eyes on the heavens, clearly beside himself and fighting for control. Aragorn joined him and silently gathered him into his arms, heard a quiet sob as Legolas slumped against him, felt hands clutch at his sides. The man remembered a golden ring in the bottom of the elf's small pack, a wedding band, and his heart fell. "Mellon, mellon," he whispered, "why didn't you tell me?" He untied the cloth and gently pulled the gag free, but Legolas remained silent. Over the ellon's bare shoulder Aragorn saw Selwyn nod consent to this, moved a soothing hand down the rigid spine.

"Continue," the Sheriff ordered quietly. Everyone could see where this story was headed and none doubted the misery their captive had endured, but Selwyn wanted his soldiers to hear it all. Just as the false story had been spread from border to border, now the truth must make the same journey and replace it. Already he dreaded the news he must carry to the new King at Edoras.

"We came near the camp, a pleasing spot beside the Great River with plenty of trees for shade and limitless grass for the horses, but suddenly the elves grew still and tense. They chattered in their strange talk and became agitated, the Golden Lady most of all. She turned to me and spoke, saying there was fighting ahead and asking if our men were well armed. Well, my brother was there and so I was excited and dashed ahead with all speed, thinking Orcs were attacking the camp. The elves charged with me, shouting battle cries, faces twisted in hatred, weapons drawn, but when we reached the camp the battle was over and everyone lay dead or dying, the horses gone.

"The elves dismounted and checked each man for life while I sought for Ari. He was not there. I could not understand it; our men had been stripped of their weapons and helms and cloaks; even their boots were stolen! While I was trying to make sense of it, fearing my brother's fate, the Golden Lady came to me. She said the trail was fresh and we could overtake the marauders if we made haste; would I join them? As though I needed to be asked! I told her about my brother and fear filled her eyes. She set a hand on my arm and said we must catch them before they reached the Black Tower.

"Can you understand my terror then? My brother, captive of the Wraiths, tortured for the sport of Orcs and foul men. It was too horrible to think and I rode in a blind rage. All I wanted was a chance to kill the ones who had done this."

Another pause broke his narrative, Bjorn overcome with emotion as he recalled the scene, but none spoke or so much as moved, spellbound by the tale. It was as though the audience willed him to go on and eventually he did, voice subdued now and choked with both shame and grief.

"The trail led us back under the eaves of Mirkwood. All at once there were arrows streaming past me. I thought the elves had spied Orcs and were firing but it soon became clear we had ridden into an ambush. Confusion broke out, I heard the Golden Lady shout once: 'Rohan?' she said, like a question it was, and then 'Treachery!' my fellow emissary shouted. The cover was so thick I couldn't get a glimpse of our attackers and wanted only to get out of the line of fire. There was nothing at which to aim my lance. In the midst of this chaos, I saw Ari riding through the trees. He joined me and grabbed my charger's bridle, jerking us in a new direction. In seconds, it seemed, we were back in the green fields beside Anduin, the fighting left far behind us, and we kept on riding. When we stopped we were alone, the only ones to make it out of there.

"I chided him, saying we had to go back and help, but he refused. He said the attackers were elves and our camp had been taken unawares. At first I couldn't believe him, for I could see no reason for them to do it, but he said it was for the horses and because the Mirkwood Elves had become sinister, servants of the Shadow."

That raised a low growl from the Wood Elf and Legolas pushed himself upright, glared at the man, shook his head. "No Wood Elf has ever served Shadow."

"Aye, it was a lie, but he is my brother and so at last I accepted his story," said Bjorn. "We made for home and were not followed. Ari kept talking about the treachery of the elves and by the time we got here, I was convinced it must be true. The alternative was to accuse my own brother of treachery and I could not. He was never an evil person, though maybe a bitter one. He complained about being poor more than most men, saying it was wrong for the elves to have such hoards of wealth while men went hungry. Oh, I don't want to make excuses for him. Before he left, he admitted to me his lie about the elves part in this and I can't condone it anymore."

"He did more than lie about it," said Legolas, voice laced with venom. "He arranged that ambush. Can you deny it?"

"I would not want to say it," grumbled Bjorn, but he could not meet the elf's eyes and kept his face averted.

"I don't need you to," spat Legolas. "He told me himself, gloated over it. He was so proud of his despicable deeds that I have no doubt he bragged to his woman, too. Call her out here, Sheriff, and make her speak." There was such steel in that voice that Selwyn could not have refused even had he wished it.

"Wait, let us hear the tale from your side, Legolas," Aragorn urged quietly. He kept a hand on his friend's shoulder and met the mournful expression turned upon him with an encouraging squeeze.

"There is little to tell," said Legolas. "Only one of my people made it out of that ambush: my brother Doronarth. He dragged himself to a guard's outpost, mortally wounded, and they carried him home with the lance that killed him as proof. Before he died, he reported that some of my people were taken alive. As he lay bleeding, he overheard the men discussing the price they should demand for the slaves. They left him, taking their captives south to Dol Guldur, to the Wraiths."

Aragorn shifted a little, uneasy over a nagging sense of recognition at the speaking of that name. Where had he heard of Doronarth? He put the thought aside; Legolas must be his concern now. He could guess the rest anyway and had no wish to make his friend relive the sorrow and the horror of losing both his brother and his beloved. It was equally obvious he had gone seeking revenge and ended up a captive, too. The mystery of his escape seemed irrelevant compared to the need to get the archer back home.

"What say you, Selwyn, is Legolas free to go?"

"This is indeed a tangled and terrible tale," uttered Selwyn, shaking his head. "I have heard enough to exonerate you, Legolas, and your people, though I don't understand the why of it or who killed our folk."

"Let the woman speak," insisted Legolas.

As though called by his voice, the door swung open behind them and Brynja emerged, the boy beside her. Everyone turned to her, but Legolas gasped aloud and stared at the child, or rather what the child held in his hands. He shook free of Aragorn and stumbled toward them, dropping down to his knees before the lad, eyes on the glittering knife he held out. With trembling hands he took it, handling it with the care one gives to something precious beyond words, and gathered it close against his heart. Head bowed in silent reverence, his tears were hidden by the fall of his golden mane.

TBC


	8. Breaking Through

#### Chapter Eight: Breaking Through

"Ari is mine no more," mourned Brynja in lacklustre tones of weary defeat. "His heart is a stone. He hungers, not for the joy of our marriage bed, but for depraved and illicit acts that bring disgrace and shame. Nothing moves him to smile save the pain of others; nothing brings him delight save to be the cause of that pain. Even our son"

Her voice trailed away into silence as her eyes stared unseeing at the elf on his knees, the boy standing there weeping with him.

"It's not my Da," the child croaked out. "My Da didn't hurt you and those other elves. He loves Mama and he never hurt me, not ever. It's not him. It was somebody else."

Legolas, submerged in a grief that had no bottom, halted in his plunge through those unsounded depths and slowly raised his head, focused fierce eyes on the boy, reached out and clutched him tight at the shoulder.

"Oh, yes, it is your father," he hissed coldly. "You wear his face; do not deny the loins that spawned you." He shook the child roughly; the knife glinted in his other hand. The boy whimpered, unable to tear his eyes away, forced to listen, while the adults stared in stupefied disbelief, paralysed in their horror of it. "Your father, Ari, just a man as any other of your kind; no demon and no wizard, he. Just a man who turned from all that is good and noble and pure in this world." He shook the boy again. "A man, as you shall be someday and find set before you the same choices. What will you choose, echil hên?" (human child)

The boy began to cry, a keening wail winding up in his lungs, squeezing free of his wounded heart in a shrill and reedy exhalation of misery and terror, but he could not look away and shook his head in futile denial.

"Aye," Legolas nodded, his face contorted in a horrendous grimace, half-leering like the mocking grin of death, half a snarling predator's ravenous smirk, and his relish over the boy's distress shimmered darkly in the torch light. "Choose, echil!" The knife hand shifted minutely, a shiver of tension running through the arm that sent a flash of silver over the boy's cheeks.

"No, never!" he sobbed, the words all but drowned in his heaving gulps. "Never, never, never! None can make me do it! I'll never hurt her, never never!"

"Legolas!" Aragorn called, desperate pleading in his voice, afraid to move a muscle lest that knife dart out and silence the boy forever.

The men around him were likewise held at bay, mouths split apart in shock, impotent of action, no courage in their bones sufficient to risk the child in the attempt to save him. Brynja stood in a disbelieving daze, incapable of comprehending the scene. The elf did not acknowledge them, that terrible glare fused to wide eyes of stricken innocence, and for an interminable flight of seconds probed and plumbed the boy's soul. Their communion yielded a subtle change, a nearly imperceptible shift in the pressure of the air, a critical moment of delicate imbalance.

"Never?" murmured Legolas and his head tilted in bemusement. His smile lost its repulsive gloating; the grip on the child's shoulder eased. "You need not resist so long as that, henellon, (boy child) only until you die."

"Never," insisted the child firmly and his tears dwindled; his wailing gave way to hitched hiccoughs. He raised his arm and wiped it noisily across his dripping nose, but his eyes did not move from the elf's, enduring the penetrating scrutiny with determination, no shield to spare him but truth. "Not even if I never die, I would never hurt my mother. Or you. I know he hurt you; my father, Ari, did those awful things. I saw him hurt my Mama and when I tried to stop him, he hurt me, too. I wish I did not have his face."

Legolas' inhaled a long, deep breath of the cool night's air; it left his body in a soft sigh of exhaustion and relief. Every hint of that virulent fury drained from his enflamed heart, flowing through his veins in icy rivulets that wrought a convulsive tremor down his spine. He dropped down atop his heels and his hold on the boy slipped lower to tenderly surround his arm.

"I believe you," he said softly and his eyes filled with compassion and admiration. "What is your name?" But the boy dropped his face at last, cheeks dark with shame, and would not speak. "Ah, I see," whispered Legolas sadly. "First born, you bear his name." The drooping head nodded and another quiet sob broke free.

For an instant the blade gleamed white and every heart froze in horror, a ripple of frantic reflexive motion rolling over the men, halted by the sight of the exquisite weapon lying discarded on the ground, the child enveloped in the archer's arms, safe within the strong, protective embrace of argent elf-light. Legolas spoke, the words soothing and soft, a benediction breathed in his native tongue; long fingers moved over the head of close-cropped hair pressed against his shoulder. Brynja swooned, her body collapsing with a dull thud, an unruly sprawl of arms and legs and yellow tresses.

"Mama!" cried Arison and tore free to run to her, but he thought her dead and feared to come near. He burst into tears anew. "No! Mama, Mama!"

Now everyone found their limbs unlocked and in a rush made for the fallen woman and her aggrieved son, but Legolas was there before them and again all drew back as though forcibly repulsed, and indeed his arm swept out to ward off their advance, his warning eye forbade approach. Beside her he knelt and lifted her hand, fingers tracing a curative caress across her brow. He spoke no words but his countenance brightened, his concern dissolving into barely concealed mirth as he glanced once at Aragorn, mischief in his eyes, then bent and kissed the woman lightly on the lips.

"Oh!" someone exclaimed, impossible to say who.

"Awaken, good-wife," ordered Legolas and beckoned the child closer. "She only fainted; no harm is done."

It was true. Brynja stirred, then blinked, then stared in wonder at the fair face regarding her with amused patience, let her eyes drift to her boy there beaming at her. Her arms opened to him and he fell laughing between them. Then she smiled and the darkness that had so plagued her lifted. Soon everyone was talking at once, overwhelmed with the release of tension, beseeching Brynja to lie still and regain her strength, asking if she had need of water, yet all remained a respectful distance from them, though now only partly from fear. Presently, Legolas stood and helped her rise and the crowd surrounded them, tentative hands reaching at last to touch her, patting the boy on the shoulder, reassuring themselves all was well.

Aragorn watched Legolas, a feeling of deep remorse overwhelming his heart, and though he wanted to go to him, stayed back, concerned and anxious, for he really had thought Legolas might murder the boy. Even now, seeing them together, he was not sure it was a calumny to think it. Yet the child was completely at ease with Legolas as was Brynja. What had happened here?

The man could not bring himself to ask, not yet. Had he not insulted his friend enough? Even as he watched, the archer effortlessly detached himself from the throng, taking Brynja and her son along, and the three went into the house. Immediately Hjördís exited with the second boy and shut the door. The golden glow of a lamp spilled out from the windows, illuminating the wondering faces of the soldiers as they peered in unabashed fascination at the scene revealed within: the elf listening intently as the family poured out their burdens.

"What was all that?" asked Hjördís and her voice was no longer tainted by suspicion but packed with fear, for she had been spying from the house and saw everything. It was plain to anyone that Legolas was no longer a prisoner and she had spoken strongly against him.

"I thought he was going to kill the boy," Bjorn spoke what they all had felt.

"I could not move a muscle," muttered Beldon, disgusted by his cowardly behaviour, but many other voices echoed his lament.

"Was that a glimpse of his true power?" asked Selwyn, addressing Aragorn.

"Then, why didn't he do that before and escape us?" Caedmon added.

"No, he has no such might to command our actions. Why did we all think he would harm the boy?" Aragorn demanded, staring hard at the men, angry but more so with himself than with them. After all, had he not been raised among elves? Had he not been trained by the most esteemed healer in all of Middle-earth?

"He had a knife in his hand," answered Selwyn. "He held the child captive and berated him."

"He had a knife in his hand," Aragorn repeated, nodding, "one that obviously held great significance to him. He was upset and reacted to the child's denials from the midst of his misery, but did he every raise that blade?" The men of Rohan glanced uneasily at one another, but there was no denying the truth or Aragorn's words. "No, he didn't. Legolas would never take a life without just cause, especially a child's," continued Aragorn gravely. Again he passed his eyes from man to man. "It is our own guilty hearts that put that fear in our minds. We have wronged him, punishing the victim for the crimes of the aggressor - a man! - and in our hearts, we wonder what Legolas deems just after all he's endured. We wonder if he would seek revenge upon us, for we know that most men would. How many of us have felt a rage so red, desiring to destroy our enemies to the very last soul?"

"By Iluvatar, now I believe you are Lord Thorongil," muttered the Sheriff. "It is told he reads even the inner heart a man hides from himself." There were many low and mumbling admissions of similar mien and the men gradually moved through their discomfort to a point of acceptance, inventing an explanation for Legolas' behaviour that was benign.

"He was testing that boy."

"I think Arison will grow to be a very powerful foe of the Shadow, for rare is the mortal who can bear a delving so deep as that witnessed here this night."

"But what befell Brynja?" asked another voice.

"Shock, fear," Aragorn shrugged, for this he would have thought obvious to everyone.

"Clearly, you know little of our women," chided Caedmon and a round of proud chuckling sounded through the yard.

"Aye," Selwyn elaborated. "The only one more in danger than Arison was that elf. A good-wife of Rohan is fiercer than a mother bear when it comes to her young."

"My sister has been wandering in fog for months now," admitted Hjördís. "Her mind was broken and her spirit crushed. Ari did dreadful things to her; things the vilest enemy we have would not even do. Because it was her husband whom she loved, the torment was a thousand times worse."

"Ai! This is dreadful," complained Aragorn. "Why did you not send word to Selwyn for help?" He was glaring at Bjorn, thinking this man should have acted to protect his brother's wife and children from harm. Hjördís was quick to defend her husband's honour.

"Easy to say, but Ari threatened the children's lives. My Bjorn would not risk our son Hama nor his nephew and niece. Nor would I. I defy any man here to say he would do differently!" Her words were strong, but the woman had difficulty meeting Thorongil's eyes, for she could tell he knew. To spare herself and her son, she had become Ari's ally, menacing Brynja and her children in Ari's absence to keep them from going to Selwyn for aid.

"Aye, it is not our place to judge such things," said Selwyn and held out his hand to Bjorn in friendship. It was grasped with gratitude and relief and many voices affirmed the Sheriff's words.

"Truly spoken," nodded Aragorn. "I was wrong to cast blame on you, Bjorn, for I know not what I would do if my own brother held my child hostage."

"I thank you, all of you," said Bjorn gruffly.

"It's the elf we should thank; he broke the spell of darkness from her mind," said Caedmon. A low murmur of agreement arose among the soldiers.

"Aye, elvish magic cured her."

"I saw it; he gave her light by that kiss."

"Soul-light, he called it."

"She will be marked by blessings now. She and Arison, too."

Aragorn recorded all this in a rather sardonic mood, recalling the men's suspicions and unkind words, but decided not to correct their misperception. _Let them show him the respect and awe that is his natural due from men such as these._ He hoped they would show their remorse and ask the elf's pardon without need to be prodded to do it.

"Now, Bjorn, tell us the rest," encouraged Selwyn, "for it is clear enough Brynja and Arison have suffered grievously and they should not be made to speak of it."

"How did they know the elf?" asked Aragorn, for this was what had struck him first.

"They didn't," denied Bjorn, "not until this day. Yet, Ari made us all listen to stories of his 'adventures', as he referred to them. He boasted of being a trusted confederate of the kings of the Black Tower. Yon elf was right. Ari may not have invented that plan to ambush the fair folk, but he knew all about it and was put in charge of it, according to his own boasting words."

"That is clear enough," complained Aragorn, "but Legolas recognised your nephew. I cannot be mistaken in that."

"Maybe he did," shrugged Hjördís. "The boy looks just like his father. Having seen the one, he would be bound to see the likeness in the son's features."

"Exactly my point," complained Aragorn in exasperation. "Legolas could not have seen Ari; he was not a member of the trading party and your law-brother was not one of Rohan's emissaries." Then Aragorn remembered Brynja's telling words. "By the Powers! Ari was his gaoler in Dol Guldur!" Horrible as this idea was, it was the only answer that made sense, and Bjorn was nodding confirmation. Aragorn cursed and turned to look upon the elf through the brightly lit square. Was it any wonder the child had come under his doom?

"What? I don't follow, Thorongil. Bjorn told us Ari returned here after the raid and I know this to be true," argued Selwyn.

"Nay, he's right," said Bjorn. "My brother left as soon as all the excitement died down and went back to Dol Guldur. The elf was Ari's charge."

"Neither Brynja nor the boy have been to that dread place. How could they recognise Legolas? He might have been any elf of Mirkwood and it is strange indeed that he is the very one your brother tormented." Selwyn said.

"We had to listen to Ari describing the things he did to his 'prize captive' in horrific detail." Bjorn frowned and shared his dismay with his wife, who groaned and went back inside. "I will not repeat those words for we all know about the vile practices of orcs and evil men." He paused as Hjördís returned and passed to her husband a small cramped packet of parchment. "My brother became obsessed with his prisoner and hungered for him. Not in the way he once longed for Brynja, but a perversion of that clean desire. Well, here. See for yourself." Unable to look any of his comrades in the eye, Bjorn shoved the crumpled scraps at Selwyn.

The Sheriff took them and as the soldiers gathered close to see he leafed through the pages. On each one was drawn the crude figure of an elf in various poses of grotesque torture, most of them obscene, the brutality of the punishment vivid, the agony of the victim palpable, so dark even these seasoned soldiers gasped aloud and turned away. Yet one of the pages was obviously crafted with great care to recreate the captive's features and there could be no doubt the portrait favoured Legolas, though the eyes looked empty and lifeless.

"And the fiend responsible for this escaped," Aragorn choked on the words, taking the parchment sheets with a shaking hand. Carefully he arranged them, setting the image of his friend's face at the top, and ground his teeth in useless fury. He had guessed all this, but comprehending what was generally done to elves in thrall to Shadow was quite different form virtually witnessing Legolas being debased and subjugated, bound and beaten, burned and starved, raped. "This is abomination," he growled and met Selwyn's troubled gaze. "Who will come with me to track down the perpetrator of such heinous deeds?"

"No one," spoke the archer behind him and everyone wheeled about in astonishment to see him standing there for none had heard his approach. His eyes glanced upon the parchment sheets but he gave no sign he was aware of what was depicted upon them. He smiled calmly at Aragorn's incredulous expression. "He will reach the Black Tower before we can overtake him. I am not going back in and suggest none of you attempt it. You would never come out, nor could I or anyone effect your salvation, and death does not come easily in Dol Guldur."

"That may be true, but this man has done a great wrong to you and to your people," said Selwyn. He took a step closer and looked to his men to gain their attention to what he would say. "He was once a man of Rohan and we trusted him for that reason, though now his evil is revealed. We owe you an apology and more, for it is clear Rohan instigated this terrible crime, whether or not the impetus came from Dol Guldur. Say what redress your King demands and I shall see it done."

"My King has already exacted retribution from his foes, his true foes," Legolas said shaking his head. "Rohan owes nothing to Greenwood."

"The Elven King will grant forgiveness for these wrongs?" asked Caedmon.

"Forgiveness?" Legolas shrugged. "Rohan was not at fault and needs no forgiveness from the Wood Elves. If such was the case, Aran Thranduil would have made formal charges to your king. We are civilised people and do not go warring in other lands, having enough beneath our trees to keep us busy in that regard. For myself, I no longer hold a grudge."

"Well said," Aragorn smiled when Legolas looked his way, but the expression died on registering a flicker of contempt in the cool blue irises.

"Aye, you are generous in your mercy," added Selwyn, "yet on our part an obligation remains."

"I do not see it that way; Rohan lost citizens, also," reminded Legolas. "Brynja revealed what happened to those traders and Bjorn can correct me if I misunderstood her. Ari devised two ambuscades: the first to kill the men of Rohan, the second to capture my people. He arranged for a party of evil men from Dol Guldur to do this thing. They fell upon your kinsmen and killed them, took weapons and helms and other such things that would identify a man as one of the Rohirrim. In these outfits the criminals disguised themselves to fool keen elvish eyes.

"In the foment of the chase and the chaos that followed, my people did not know their attackers were not from Rohan, for it is long since we have visited the lands of the horse-lords or they to us." He paused for breath to say the last. "My brother was not left alive by accident. He was the dupe through whom passed this lie to Aran Thranduil. His death I have avenged, but this base usage by Shadow, for that I will yet have vengeance."

His quiet resolve and the hatred underlying these words demanded an interval of respectful silence from the men. None doubted he would wreak such havoc the Wraiths would regret their foul scheme for many long years. After a while, Bjorn spoke.

"That matches what Ari told me," he nodded. "The kings of the Dark Tower were pleased it worked so well, said it was a powerful blow to the Elven King."

This caused a flinch to rattle Legolas and a wave of sorrow washed through his eyes. He bowed his head a moment. "That is true, but Aran Thranduil's spirit is strong; he will endure. While Thranduil endures, Greenwood shall never fall to Darkness." He raised his chin in proud defiance.

"Even so, we cannot permit them to savour their victory," spat Aragorn. "We will go to Theoden and then to King Thranduil. We will go to the White Council and"

"No." Legolas interrupted the man and his authority was paramount. "This is a matter between Greenwood and Rohan that is now settled. Just as you said once, neither side was at fault. As for the Wraiths, Greenwood has already soured the taste of their triumph, and Ari has likely as not paid for this insult wrought upon his chosen lords. I am satisfied." He breathed a deep breath again and stood tall, holding forth his right hand to Selwyn. "Let there be no enmity between our lands any longer."

"Gladly, gladly will I take your hand! This is good news I will report to Theoden King." The Sheriff eagerly gripped the slender fingers and squeezed them solemnly, doubting not that this elf could speak for his King and kinsmen, so noble was his bearing and proud his gaze. "I would not have you endure a retelling of this crime," he added quietly, "but I would have my King know what really happened. Besides, it is only right that Rohan show you the proper hospitality. Will you journey with me as my honoured guest to Edoras?"

"That I will not do," said Legolas and loosed a harsh laugh with no joy in it. "You have many witnesses and evidence aplenty." His eyes fell briefly on the parchment in Aragorn's fist.

"Aye, but Rohan has treated you ill and I am duty bound to reverse that injury. Come, say that you will celebrate our new friendship and be my guest at the crowning of the new King," Selwyn enthused, dearly hoping to right his people's wrongs.

"I thank you, but no," repeated Legolas, a touch of acid in the words. "You are now convinced I am neither a sorcerer nor a servant of the Shadow, but others may not be so easy to sway. I have no wish to make the attempt in a city filled with armed men." Seeing the Sheriff's crestfallen face and obvious regret, he relented of his bitterness. "In truth, I have need to return home for my obligations are many and there are those who await me in worried impatience, though they know I am alive and free of the Wraith's dungeons."

"You will not leave tonight?" Aragorn blurted out. He wasn't ready to be parted from the elf, feeling need to clarify things between them. The solemn face studied him a minute or two, an expression there he could not decipher, and then Legolas shrugged and moved off into the yard.

"I know you have need of sleep, Kalrô. I will stay the night." He called for Tuilelindô and met her soft whinny with a light laugh as he discovered her tucked into one of the stalls, greedily munching on oats.

Soon he was singing, the notes filled with the same intense sorrow and pain he'd expressed before, but now the men of Rohan knew its source and went uneasily to their tents. Yet, who among them could rest while his conscience assailed him so mercilessly?

  
Aragorn thought to remain apart from Legolas, affording him a respectful distance in which to vent his grief, for he was sure the blow to King Thranduil had not excluded the archer. There was a wound in his friend far deeper and more dangerous than any wrought by a poisoned arrow. Yet he was drawn to him and hovered near the stable, listening to the ancient hymn, fighting the urge to enter in. He looked with disgust upon the lurid images still clutched in his hand and swallowed back a surge of bile. With angry strides he crossed to the bonfire and threw in the parchment sheets, watching in dismal satisfaction as the hideous drawings were devoured by the flames and wafted away in the smoky wind. The solemn song ended then and Aragorn turned, debating what to do.

Again it was Legolas who took the initiative, emerging with Tuilelindô at his side, a hand enmeshed in her stringy mane. He beckoned Aragorn away from the fire, moving out into the moonlit meadow toward a small orchard, far from the house and the encampment of the Rohirrim. The mare wandered away in the grass and soon stood still, knees locked as she slept, one ear turned back to monitor her master's presence. Legolas paused beneath a tree, back against the bark, and studied the man's uneasy discontent.

"I am glad you destroyed those," he said quietly. "My thanks, Aragorn."

The man's spine stiffened; Legolas had not called him by his true name like this before and the simple syllables contained an indefinable quality of finality within them. He shivered. "I could do no less. I want to apologise for all the troubles I brought upon you, especially considering the trials you have already endured."

"I accept; though I might have to demand retribution." Legolas was once more teasing a bit, hoping to lighten the mood, but Aragorn remained pensive and wary. The ellon sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "What is the matter now? Everything got sorted out and I think it was best that I did not speak. None could argue that I was making Bjorn say those things and I had need to hear them."

"Did you know this man Ari was the same who"

"No, I never thought to see that face again."

A long pause followed in which the man sought a means to ask the questions that fuelled his curiosity without prying. Before he could manage it, Legolas spoke again.

"That was a pretty speech you gave back there, but completely inaccurate."

The statement took the man off guard for the words were shaded by that same bitterness Legolas had expressed to Selwyn. "What speech do you mean?"

"About the boy. I am quite capable of killing the innocent if circumstances demand it and have done so before."

"What are you saying?" Aragorn gasped, completely unprepared for such an admission. He shook his head in helpless denial. "Legolas, I know you have suffered, but"

"What can you know of my suffering?" barked the archer. "You know nothing about me, echil."

"I know more than you guess, and everyone heard the sorrow in your song."

"And this inspires your compassion?"

"It does. You lost your brother in this raid and others dear to you."

"What of the bond between us?"

"What?" Again the man was nonplussed, seeing this as a separate issue. "It is because of that bond that I am here."

"Those are true words," nodded Legolas, but there was sadness about him and he sighed. "There is something more you would say. Speak; I would hear of what you think you know, though I cannot guess how."

"So be it," Aragorn shifted awkwardly, certain Legolas would be irate over his trespass. "I may as well confess it: when you were ill I looked through your pack for healing herbs. I saw there the golden ring."

"Ah. I see." Legolas scowled in dismay, peering at Aragorn keenly, but his gaze turned speculative rather than wrathful. "What did you deduce from that?"

"That it belonged to someone dear to you; so dear you went after her and thus became imprisoned in the Black Tower. You escaped but here you are, alone, and so your beloved did not. That is the burden you carry and I would lessen it if I could, but since such is impossible then I stand ready to share this grief with you." Aragorn came closer and settled a gentle hand on Legolas' shoulder, watching in wonder as warmth suffused the archer's eyes and fingers came up to softly touch his cheek.

"I could not escape; no one ever escapes from Dol Guldur save through death. Mithrandir got me free," Legolas said and fingered the man's bearded chin, eyes upon the firm lips pressed together in such forbidding reserve, and dared to hope. "She was my mother, Aragorn. Beloved, yes, but not in the way of mated partners." His gaze rose to judge the man's reaction to this, hearing the sharp intake of breath, seeing the comely features contorted in sympathetic affliction.

"Ai! Your mother? Ai, Legolas, mellon," Aragorn stammered, shaking his head, and clasped tight the hand at his face, cupped it safely within both of his. "I am so sorry for your loss, so sorry."

"Does this change things between us?" Legolas asked, smiling encouragement.

"Change things?" Aragorn swallowed with difficulty.

"Yes. I had no mate to lose; there is no claim upon my heart. There is none upon yours. We are free to explore whether each might supply that"

"Ai! Legolas, mellon, nothing will ever change how I feel about you," Aragorn insisted vehemently and tried to extricate himself from the elf's hands. Strangely, he could not break from them and found he had somehow drawn the elf closer to him.

"What of our bond of life over death?" Legolas pressed, and leaned against him with a wispy sigh, twined lean arms about his neck. "I have need of the comfort that bond would supply."

"Legolas, mellon, mellonen," Aragorn whispered hoarsely. "Do not tempt me so. We mustn't." Yet his hands bracketed the slender waist and he trembled to feel the archer's warm flesh against him; his nose delved into the golden strands and inhaled the ellon's scent.

"Why, for it is clear this would give you as much pleasure as it would me." Legolas briefly rubbed his hardening shaft against the man's groin, grinning as strong hands grabbed his buttocks and groped him freely. Teeth nibbled at his neck and he moaned, darting out his tongue to lap an earlobe, but his anticipation was squashed.

"Nay!" Aragorn gave forth a wrenching groan of frustration and misery, shoving Legolas off him roughly. "Legolas, after all that's happened to you, your mind is not thinking clearly. What seems the answer to this immediate pain would only cause you more in the future. How could I take advantage of you this way?"

"Advantage? Surely it is advantageous to give and receive love. I know not what your heart forebodes, but this is the nature of the bond we share. You say you would do anything to comfort me, and I say this is the comfort I need."

"Comfort? IYou want me to"

"Have you never done this for a friend?"

"No, I mean yes, but" Aragorn's mind struggled to disentangle his rising desire from the elf's words, but the two were hopelessly mingled. Legolas spoke of comfort and of love in the same breath, and the man had no idea what he meant. He wanted the archer, but feared to indulge that need while Legolas' spirit was so compromised. _Yet he wants me, too._ "Our lives cannot entwine thus, for I would not be the one to hurt you. I do not love you, Legolas." He had to turn his back on the pained expression in the elf's eyes. "Ai! Don't look at me like that. It cannot be."

Thinking to hear his name cursed and the faint sound of elven feet retreating, his breath caught at the rustle of coarse cloth cascading to the ground. Sturdy arms encircled his bare chest and the solid bulk of an erection wedged against his backside. Legolas was naked.

"Love, comfort, desire," whispered Legolas huskily, "whatever it is, give me what you feel right now, Aragorn." His hands roamed over the furred chest, brushing nipples that were tight and hard, and settled lower to work at the buckle holding the man's sword secure. It fell away with a heavy thud and his fingers dipped below the waist of the pants, fondled the silky soft pinnacle of the man's cock. He exulted in the spontaneous thrust that provoked.

Aragorn discovered he could no longer argue. He watched the hands that teased him, sighed as they untied the lacing and eased his pants down, freeing his erection and returning to cup his balls. It was more than he could stand and he turned in the hot embrace, one hand taking the elf behind the neck as he devoured the mouth parted for him, the other gripping the archer's rigid shaft and pumping vigourously. Legolas responded in kind and the lethal fingers wrapped round his cock soon drove Aragorn beyond all reservations.

In a frenzy of passion he pulled the elf to the earth and covered him, hauled a long leg over one shoulder and out of the way, entered the tight confines of the supple body, sheathing himself fully with a mighty thrust. A deep tremor ran through Legolas and he loosed an excited oath, but Aragorn barely registered these reactions, retreating only to plough deeper, desperate to claim the ellon for his own. The position was awkward and he felt fingers claw at his back and sides as his relentless lunges curled the elf upon himself, but every impact raised a low cry of pleasure form him, too, and excited Aragorn the more.

The coupling was rough and rapid, Aragorn sparing no energy for tender endearments or leisurely exploration of the body beneath him. The friction was too sweet, the scent of the archer's flesh intoxicating, his urgent pleas of needy want too exhilarating. He spent too soon, unable to forestall release when he sensed Legolas begin the convulsive throes of orgasm, heard a quick gasp and then his name murmured in pure joy, felt slick, wet warmth smear his belly. Aragorn came in a rush of delirious ecstasy, unmindful of the shouts he made, and soared on the spiralling current of unbridled passion. Panting and sweaty, reason returned to him with the sensation of lips softly anointing his chest with delicate kisses. The man shivered and thought he might grow hard instantly, shifted to peer down into the dreamy eyes regarding him.

"Valar," he croaked, swallowing to try and gather some composure. He shifted as Legolas' leg moved off his shoulder and aside, the elf wriggling to unfold and spread himself wide beneath him, and Aragorn's penis twitched impatiently. "Legolas, I" but he had no idea what he could say that would make this right.

"Kalrô" sighed Legolas happily and once more stroked the dark beard, tracing the panting mouth with both fingers and eyes. "Anno enni calad lín." (Give me your light)

The man could not but obey, taking his time to savour the pleasure they shared, telling himself it was just the comfort of comrades in arms, the desperate need of his grieving friend justification for so thoroughly mastering the elf. He drifted into sleep just before dawn, Legolas resting in his arms as if there had never been any other place he could find rest. Deep in his heart of hearts, Aragorn hoped it was so.

TBC

NOTE: Thank you everyone for taking the time to share your thoughts about this story with me. Finally, Legolas gets his wish, but what exactly is it that he really wants from Aragorn? I promise to let you inside Legolas' mind next chapter.


	9. The Way Home

#### Chapter Nine: The Way Home

 

"A new name must be bestowed upon you, for you have been reborn in spirit, renewed in heart, and remain a child in years alone. Forevermore you will be Belêsjandô in the language of the sylvans, which is Strong Blade. All men have a set time of living and after that, none know whence their spirits fly. It shall be the same for you, Belêsjandô son of Brynja, but so long as my feä, my elvish light, burns bright you will remain alive in the knowledge of the elves and that is no small thing, perhaps.

"In days to come, your people will give you another name, 'Ancient One', Gamling they shall call you, for your years will be counted long among the horse-lords and many deeds of service you will render unto your King, you and your son and your son's son. Before then, before your hair grows white and your skin leathers, you shall be called Egil in the tongue of Rohan, for you stood at the brink of doom upon the slender edge of a deadly blade and survived. So shall you stand again some day, and on that day I will stand there beside you. Friends and allies shall we be from this day forward."

Legolas spoke to the boy, Arison, in these portentous words, a hand upon the child's shoulder, glittering eyes staring unblinking into the young one's open heart and unresisting mind, their vision locked once more. Easily he traced the poisonous insults and deriding scorn with which the father had laced his son's once buoyant soul, cruel and acidic words that had etched themselves into the boy's perception of himself, weighed down that vibrant, questing spirit and sunk it low with shame and fear. It took some work to erase them, delicate work more exacting than the most intricate surgery of torn flesh, excising the damage but leaving the memory of how the wound had been taken. A warrior had need of such memories but not of the crippling fear and helplessness that came with hurts so deep, so destructive.

 _He must remember it else he will not be able to own the courage with which he fought and conquered Shadow._

Beside the boy stood his uncle, Bjorn, his hand upon the child's other shoulder, and Brynja was there, too, beaming with proud tears upon her cheeks and her infant daughter upon her hip. Round them all the Riders of Rohan watched the solemn ceremony, understanding it instinctively even if the elf's impact on the lad's inner heart was not acknowledged. Awe and wonder transformed the battle-weary faces of these sturdy folk, no longer superstitious soldiers but devout believers who had gone from hating the Wood Elves to seeing in them powerful allies, perilous friends. They heard prophecy in his words and potent magic in the shimmer of elf-light clinging to him, imagining that energy filtering into Arison, now Egil Belêsjandô, where the long, lethal fingers touched him.

Aragorn stood beside his friend and watched all this, thinking the Men of Rohan were not entirely wrong about the sylvan folk after all. There was surely an influx of Legolas' vital essence pulsing through the child; the man could sense it easily and wondered how he had ever missed it when it pulsed through him. Of course, he was much more intimately acquainted with the character of the archer's soul-light now. There was a facet of Legolas that he and the elf shared and a corresponding aspect of his psyche that was open to the ellon as it had never been to anyone, not his previous lovers, nor his mother. Not even Lord Elrond with his grey eyes that razed through all lies, those the man generated to fool others and those he created to deceive himself, not even he saw Aragorn as clearly as did Legolas.

 _And yet, he is not invasive, will not pry out my secrets and examine them one by one, bringing me to shame for my flaws and frailties. He just accepts._ In thinking this, Aragorn realised that what was given was what the elf needed in return, and this had been true from the very beginning. _Life instead of death, light to conquer darkness, pleasure to soothe pain, love to conquer hatred._ Could he love the elf enough to make him forget Dol Guldur?

"What say you, Selwyn, Sheriff of the East Wold? Is this naming acceptable to the horse-lords?" Legolas concluded, hand still clasped on the child's shoulder.

"It is, Legolas of the Woodland Realm," answered the Sheriff formally, bowing his head, finding nothing discordant about the juxtaposition of the ellon's noble bearing and his humble appearance, and then he faced the woman. "How say you, Brynja daughter of Dacre? Are you content for your son to bear this elvish name?"

"Content? I am honoured that a child of my blood and bone should be called this way. May this blessing spill over and benefit all my people," said Brynja and smiled through her tears at the elf.

Then Legolas took away his hand and stepped back, presenting the boy to his people.

"So let it be known throughout the Mark," announced Selwyn. "From this day forward, Egil son of Brynja is to be counted a man among us in all but years, as our friend Legolas says. He is to be trained as a soldier and a councilman, both, and enter under the protection of Theoden King since his father is no longer able to teach him the ways of our people."

"Hail, Egil Belêsjandô, son of Brynja!" shouted Caedmon and all the men took up the cheer, raising their lances high, and there was much merriment and congratulations and clapping the boy on the back.

As for Egil, he was able to look them in the eye without shame, for his dishonour was erased and he was now a ward of the King. He truly felt reborn, his hated father-self cast away like clothing that no longer fit. In his heart burned a fiery devotion and loyalty to these men that extended to all the folk of Rohan and in all his long years that followed this stalwart allegiance was never overmastered by any circumstance, no matter how dread. He became a bulwark against all enemies of Rohan and a mighty fighter to whom every soldier looked for reassurance, but today he had eyes only for the elf. Now it was his chance to speak and say his first words from his new heart, but he found it was too full to let anything out. Instead, he ran and threw his arms about Legolas' waist and squeezed and squeezed, grinning up into the bright blue eyes that looked down upon him.

"So, Egil Belêsjandô," said the elf, smiling. "There is another custom among my people that a naming must be more than a word. The word must become synonymous with the life of the person to whom it is given. This is done through blood and breath, through the fuel that gives the heart its rhythm and the air that gives the spirit voice. Are you prepared?"

"I am ready," announced Egil bravely, though his pulse jumped nervously. It had all been explained to him and he was not afraid of the pain, but feared to disappoint his powerful benefactor by flinching when the cut was made. Even so, he held forth his right hand steady and unwavering.

Sunlight glinted briefly on the dagger in Legolas' hand as it darted out and quickly nicked the skin in the centre of the boy's palm, incising marks deep into the flesh. The child sucked in a sharp breath, tears sprang to his eyes, and he bit down on his lip hard but made no cry. "These are the signs for 'fate' and 'gift', umbar and anna, for a name is both things at the same time. The gift is the summation of all the hope, love, and respect the giver holds for you, his or her idea of you complete." Blood welled up and he let it fill the child's palm, spoke over the liquid life. "Fate is the way the Music shapes those concepts, shapes you into a new incarnation of those hopes and dreams, unique. Now, claim both as your own, Egil."

"I am Egil Belêsjandô, son of Brynja, a man of Rohan." As he had been instructed, Egil spoke the words over the cuts in his hand, over the blood pooled in his palm so that he saw the surface of the red puddle shiver in the wind of his breath. Then he made a fist and turned his hand; the blood dripped into the dirt, a thin stream, and Legolas guided it, writing the new name with this precious ink upon the skin of the earth.

"Nasan," (So be it.) said Legolas, nodding in satisfaction and then he passed the boy to Aragorn who bound up the cuts with salve and cloth.

"It is a sacred thing," the man told Egil as he did this, "and not often done for men. Even the name he gave me is only a word he calls me and nothing else. Yours is now part of Arda itself."

"And of Rohan," said the boy proudly.

"That it is," agreed Selwyn. He smiled on both his guests and motioned for them to follow him out from the crowd a ways. "For what you have done for the boy, I cannot begin to express my admiration and gratitude," he said to Legolas. "You will both stay for the feast we are making in your honour."

"We will be glad to stay," Aragorn said, offering Legolas a serene smile when the archer turned an exasperated frown upon him.

"I regret that this is not possible," Legolas objected politely, having no wish to remain in Rohan any longer.

"Please stay, Legolas, and let us honour you in this small manner. It is the very least we can do," coaxed Selwyn, matching Thorongil's expression as the elf turned on him next.

"I would think the least you could do would be to let me go in peace," Legolas snapped angrily. "Already I have been delayed too long."

"Legolas!" Aragorn chastised.

"You want to stay, stay," the elf growled and stalked away to find Tuilelindô.

"What is wrong?" Selwyn asked. "I was under the impression all was well with him after last night."

"I am not certain I understand you," Aragorn said, lifting a cautionary brow at his friend.

"There is no need for embarrassment," laughed Selwyn, "though the whole countryside heard you. I told you he would not easily let you go, nor do I think you would choose to have him permit another to take your place. Be at peace, we celebrate the healing of the rift between you, for surely now you will not let him from your side."

"I'm not embarrassed," insisted Aragorn, but he could not prevent the flood of colour to his cheeks. He strode off after the elf, Selwyn's rejoinder ringing in his ears:

"Aye, and you are only friends and not lovers."

He caught up with Legolas out in the meadow where the mare was grazing, unsure what to say. The archer stood in tense expectation staring at him with that same unreadable expression presented before. "I'm sorry if I spoke for us both; I should have asked you about this first. Selwyn told me about the celebration this morning while you bathed. They want to give us gifts: clothing and weapons for you, a horse for me, provisions for the journey. I thought it would show our goodwill if we accept these things."

"I don't care about that." Legolas' aura was verily crackling with annoyance. "I don't need their goodwill or they, mine. I need to go home, Aragorn. Will you go or stay?"

"You want me to come to Greenwood with you?" Aragorn asked. Here was the beginning of what he most feared: the elf thought their night of pleasure meant more than an exchange of comfort and elvish light.

"Yes. What say you?"

"I also have need to return to my home," Aragorn hedged. Somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to repeat that he did not love the ellon. For one, it was more a lie than truth. He did not know exactly what he was feeling anymore, some mixture of desire and what he could only call possessive admiration. For another, he did want to go, but balked at being given an ultimatum like this. "I could come with you through Anduin to the Forest Road, but my path takes me on into the west, to Eriador."

"I see," Legolas nodded, smiling, and there was no hiding the bitterness in his heart. "Healed by dawn." A sigh moved out of him, a soft little laugh at his own expense. "What of our bond?"

"I cherish it, Legolas."

"So prove it."

With this sombre challenge Legolas abruptly sprang upon the mare, golden mane and burgundy cape billowing out around him, and without need of command Tuilelindô leaped into motion. They sped away over the grassy meadow, rapidly diminishing with the distance before Aragorn could begin to object.

"Prove it?" he asked the empty air, incredulous. Legolas surely wouldn't go thundering away into the Wold without provisions and only the most rudimentary of garments, alone and unarmed. "If this is some ruse to make me come chasing after" he raised his voice and yelled, but bit off the rest of the words as his heart stumbled violently. A dull, gnawing dread encircled the muscle and made his mind produce graphic images of the things that could happen to Legolas if he ran into a band of Orcs without his bow. Fear became anger; this was childish and irresponsible behaviour, no way to go about resolving this issue over the bond they shared. "Legolas! Come back here! I know you can hear me, youyou" Aragorn struggled to compose the most offensive slur he could imagine about Wood Elves and drew a complete blank. "Wood Elf! Stubborn Wood Elf!"

"Hi there! Thorongil!"

The shout came from behind and Aragorn turned to see Selwyn running toward him, Caedmon and Bjorn and little Egil following. The rest of the soldiers were milling about with that unmistakable wariness that every warrior projects as muscles long trained came alert and readied themselves for action. Every set of eyes was fixed upon him in stern accusation. He groaned and found he no longer had any difficulty calling those invectives to mind. Selwyn reached him first.

"What has happened? Where is Legolas?" The Sheriff glared at Thorongil then peered over his shoulder, scanning the horizon. "What did you say to him?"

"Why do you assume this is my doing? He does not want to stay; I cannot stop him. I told you before not to be taken in by his fragile external appearance," barked Aragorn. "This is a wild Wood Elf we're discussing and they are not exactly the most rational of people." He deliberately raised his voice and faced out toward the horizon as he spoke the last words, hoping Legolas would hear.

"What has that to do with anything?" Selwyn snapped back. "Who can be rational in the face of such horrors as he has known?"

"Aye, and wild or not, even a Wood Elf needs a weapon to fight with and he has none," Caedmon admonished as he joined them.

"He has the long silver knife with the golden runes in the blade," corrected the boy, skidding to a stop beside the men. He looked from face to face and ended with Thorongil. "He gave me the naming dagger, but maybe the other knife is powerful, magical?"

"No need to fear," said Aragorn, setting his hand on the child's shoulder. "He's not in any danger. I'm sure he's waiting just beyond sight, daring me to go after him."

"Then why are you standing here? Go!" This from Bjorn, who was having difficulty deciding whether the moment called for a furious scowl or a grin big enough to make counting all his teeth a simple feat.

"Well, he can't go afoot," a new voice laughed. It was Brynja and the men turned to see her leading a fine charger over the field.

The horse was already accoutred for the journey, complete with a saddle pack stuffed with provisions and clothes for the elf. The stallion was as splendid a steed as the brothers had in their herd, coal black and glossy with a pure white star upon his broad brow, mane and tale of silver streaked with onyx strands, and one white fetlock on his right hind leg. He nodded his head impatiently, rolling the bit with his tongue so it jangled, dark eyes seeking and nostrils flaring as he marked the trail of the woodland mare. Then he gave a soft snort and butted the woman's back gently, eager to get on with it. Indeed, he was Brynja's own mount and his pedigree included blood of the Meara's, but since she'd hung up her shield to marry and bear young, the charger had not seen battle and chaffed for his old life.

"Here is a horse worthy of Lord Thorongil," said Brynja. "He is Azrubêl, see?" She touched the white spot on his head lovingly then shoved the leads against Thorongil's chest. "Take him. I charge you now, as a friend of our people, to go after the one who gave my son a noble destiny and guard his life as best you can."

"You are most generous," Aragorn said with great restraint, for really she was starting to sound just as bossy as her sister now that the pall of her husband's cruelty was removed. Who was this woman to charge him with orders and obligations? Still, this was a wondrous horse and he took the reins. "I am sure there is nothing to worry over and Legolas will return if we only wait a while."

"How sure?" asked Selwyn.

"Aye, what if he keeps on going?" asked Egil.

"He has to go past the Black Tower to get home; there will be Orcs waiting for him," Bjorn warned.

"Well, I'll go if you won't," threatened Caedmon and turned, issuing a shrill whistle. An answering neigh sounded from the barn. He cast a disparaging eye upon Thorongil. "I want to give him a bow and sufficient arrows to see him home."

"No need," growled Aragorn. "I will see he gets the bow." He mounted Azrubêl and settled his feet into the stirrups, glaring down at the young soldier coldly. "Where is it?"

"Here, Lord," said another soldier and Aragorn looked around to see they were all collecting in the field, each shoving and pushing to get close enough to hand him some gift or token for Legolas.

"I've a quiver of arrows."

"A water-skin; I saw he has none."

"Here's a kit of medicinal supplies in case he's hurt again."

"Take this blanket, Thorongil."

"Boots, Lord, and here's a cloak and shirt for you."

One by one they came forward and efficiently strapped these items down and Aragorn found he was deeply moved by their hope to undo the unkind words and accusations uttered against Legolas. Here were good, honest folk willing to own their wrongs and do what they could to right them. It did not sour their generosity to know Legolas had spurned them, for these were practical people who could perceive that the archer's wish to go home did not necessarily mean he despised Rohan. Had he not sworn friendship with Selwyn and forsworn his discontent at the same time? Once more, Aragorn was chagrined to realise his assumptions concerning Legolas' motives were rather less than charitable. It wasn't an ultimatum the elf had issued; he was just too proud to plead.

"I thank you," Aragorn said seriously. "I will make certain Legolas receives these gifts and I will not leave his side until he is safely under the Greenwood's branches once more."

"Go with our prayers and blessings," said Brynja and slapped Azrubêl hard on the flanks. The stallion bolted into a gallop and the men cheered as Aragorn was born away.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

  
The sun dazzled, ready to sear the land again, but a light breeze blew from the north bearing hints of shadowed dells and cool, clear pools beneath mighty trees, but they were far away and the scents of the woods seemed a taunting tease. Here, the plain stretched out beneath the ruffling wind, an undulating sea of emerald licking at the boundary of earth and sky, green grass as far as elven eyes could see. So many, each blade minutely alive with the vibrant energy of Anor, so small, so singular, like leaves that had no tree on which to cling. Individually, these slivers of life rang notes in a primitive theme, basic and barely discernible. Individually they were nothing, like specks of dirt, but in the same way that those crumbs of soil formed the foundation of the forest, the very medium in which Tawar grew, so these blades combined framed an immense chorus, a glorious, resounding chord of beauty and strength that at once defined and deferred to the people living here. It was the Music of Rohan he heard and Legolas could not but marvel at its proud, majestic simplicity.

 _So different from the valley of the Great River where the wizard lives and the Beornings dwell, where the meadow lands are all shot through with scrubby oak and stands of willow, weedy with dandelions and daisies. The land has forgotten the horse-lords there._

Without his willing it, Legolas saw in his thoughts not the broad, lush valley that delimited his forest world but the dry, blasted fields of the Brown Land. Once the horse-people had lived there, too, but it was long years before his birth, and the war that had ravaged the place had left an evil residue so toxic the earth could not digest it. Nothing lived in Baran Dalf save insects and the rigid stalks of tan sabre grass; the only Song he'd heard there had been an unholy anthem of hate and war and death. That, and his own thrumming Music, so faint when played against that cacophonous cruelty, so faint, barely an echo. It was only that which had made his hiding possible. Like a single blade of grass in the desert, his soul had withered and could but twist in the blasting breath of Manwë's wrath, muted, his Song reduced to a solitary, repetitive note: the fragile, persistent rhythm of his beating heart.

 _How I listened!_

For an immensity of time, or so it had seemed, there had been nothing else he could bear to heed. He could not permit his ears to record the other sounds that reverberated through the soil, slipping through roots and rhizomes to reach him, whispering of death and things worse than death, calling to him, calling him back to pain and blood and imprisonment. He would be safe there, hidden in the dark blackness, and none would ever see how he'd been marked, changed. He need never confront it there; he could let go and drift away, drown his Song in screams of agony and fountains of blood. Driftingdrifting.

Legolas gave a violent shudder and stifled a cry of fear, listened to his racing heart, gazed up into the blue expanse of heaven then out over the rippling grass. He was not in the dungeons of the Wraiths. Mithrandir had found him, got him free. Gradually the Song reached him and his pulse steadied.

 _Rohan._

He gulped air, breathed the scent of peace and freedom, and thought of the wizard's task. Mithrandir, who had made him see again, made him look, made him listen, and how he hated him for that. Mithrandir, promising that there was hope, that if he would trust to fate he would find hope again and be healed. The wizard had had to fill him with new Music then, for there was so little left of his own, and Legolas had screamed as the burning purity of the Ainu's Song scoured him clean but left him empty and trembling, unable to retain the Maia's light. Instead, he discovered a promise planted in his thoughts beside a memory of the future, a remnant few chords of a bold Song he'd never heard.

A man, a noble hero would charge through Baran Dalf and Legolas must be there to save him, for he was not supposed to be there and would surely die. Called there for no good reason, a wizard's whim. Save him, Legolas. Save him, save yourself, save Greenwood, save your mother, save him. The ideas revolved round one another, each a single note, a single step in a running scale, sharp when it rang with his mother's voice, brash with the man's tones. They made a frantic, manic melody in his mind and he listened to that as his light slowly kindled, so slowly. Thus Mithrandir had left him in Baran Dalf.

Unable to stop himself, Legolas turned and peered over his shoulder, looking for Aragorn.

 _He will follow; the bond will draw him. It must._

He faced forward again and nudged Tuilelindô into a trot with his knees for she was reluctant to hurry, sensing his agitation, but he would not just stand by and wait. He must be in motion when the man arrived, heading for home, could not seem to be fretting over their parting, must radiate indifference at Aragorn's appearance. _Oh, he would follow now? That's nice, fine and welcome, Kalrô, you'll love Greenwood._ Legolas smiled at this ridiculous scenario; the man would know. He would know and not be insufferably arrogant and smug over it, either. No, Aragorn would be troubled and reluctant, unwilling to claim what was so freely offered, unable to see that it was not a gift at all but a desperate soul grasping at him, trying to live and fulfil this one promise.

 _Perhaps he senses it and rebels to be used thus._

But Legolas was prepared to pay any price required to buy him. There was nothing he would not willingly give: mind and heart, body and soul, his loyalty, fealty, his very life if need be. He already loved him; how could he not? Who would not prefer to feel love and desire in place of hate and base lust? It was so easy to just let go and fall into the strength and beauty of that noble heart, to feel the vibrant flame that fuelled so bright a soul, so determined a mind, so certain a destiny. A healer, he gave light freely; a Numenorean, he would honour a life-debt; a man, he mastered his need and made his partner need mastery. Compassion, obligation, and the hungers of the body were all the man could give him now, but perhaps there would be more later.

 _He could learn to love me._

Legolas made a disgusted snort at this wistful hope, lips curled in a self-deriding sneer. Aragorn was a mortal man and sooner or later must bend to the instinct to make a family, to continue his life through the life of his children. When that urge overbore every other desire, then his elven lover would be gently sent away. Surely that is what made him hesitate to take what Legolas offered. He would make the man understand he did not expect love. Eternal friendship and the heat of this passion, however short lived its fire might be, these would be enough; he would make Aragorn see it.

Legolas knew this to be a lie; that could never be enough. He wanted to be loved and so he deceived himself. Compassion might ripen into devotion, obligation become affection, and desire arise from love as much as lust. He looked behind once more, anxious, for if Aragorn did not follow, Legolas was sure he would never get past Dol Guldur.

 _Then there will be no recourse but to kill whatever I can and die. Perhaps that is the better fate._

He shivered and felt a shadow creep over him. He could not take that path unless all else failed, for his solemn word was already given and he must not break that promise, though keeping it surely meant breaking a heart. Was that not a greater evil? And once it was done, what would become of him then? He didn't know if he could go over-sea, but neither could he stay in Greenwood anymore. Tuilelindô stamped and snorted in discontent, her master's mood infecting her with nervous dread. She turned, trying to go back to that comfortable stable and its abundance of grain, ears twitching back and forth.

"Daro, Tuilelindô, dartho," he said quietly, soothing her as she danced, but then he caught movement and caught his breath, watching. A dark shape crested the green horizon. A smile spread through his soul for it was a lone rider and could only be Aragorn. Now, he would wait for him and composed himself to do so, thinking on what he would say, but in the passing of mere seconds Legolas found he could not do it. With a bright laugh he sent the mare flying through the space between them, galloping to join the man, circling once around the mighty charger and drawing up beside them, Tuilelindô prancing in time with his happy heart. "Kalrô."

Aragorn grinned, hearing the mixture of relief, delight, and unbridled joy in the ellon's voice. "Legolas, that was rude, leaving me there to explain your behaviour to our hosts, but I guess I cannot fault you since I have been discourteous to you so often since we met."

"I am glad to see you, too," Legolas laughed. He reached out and touched the man's arm, missing the closeness they had shared before. Then he surveyed the horse and gear and lifted his brows. "This is fine regalia! The horse-lords must believe you are this hero Thorongil."

"I am Thorongil," Aragorn insisted, sitting tall and casting his new cloak back. "I have only recently come from Minas Tirith where I served with Thengel King of Rohan and the Steward Ecthelion. I am a mighty captain of men, Legolas, though I may not look the part just now."

"I never doubted it."

"Never? I seem to recall a few remarks to the contrary."

"You must admit that you do have a knack for attracting trouble, trouble that tends to spread and encompass those around you who are trying to get you out of trouble."

"I cannot account for it; usually I have better sense than to trail a pack of Uruks heading for a known fortress of Shadow."

"Alone," Legolas threw in helpfully.

"Aye, thank you," Aragorn dipped his head to acknowledge the inclusion. "Alone, without hope for reinforcements or aid from any quarter. Then I let the quarry catch my scent, too, and that is something that has not happened since I was a very young man."

"No?"

"No. I am rather famous for my tracking skills and I would consider it a great blessing if you would promise not to reveal that part of the story to anyone, particularly my brothers who went to some pains to train me to be such an exceptional huntsman."

"Your brothers?"

"Aye, Lords Elladan and Elrohir of Imladris." Aragorn watched to see how the Wood Elf would react to this and smiled at the expression of disbelieving shock that wiped the smile from Legolas' face. "You might have heard of them."

"I don't believe you," scoffed Legolas, but he could see the man was not prevaricating. "Name-dropping, really, Aragorn, must you resort to something so childish? Besides, I find you impressive in your own right."

"Yes, I noticed that," Aragorn grinned, but then he grew serious. "Why did you do it? You knew nothing about me except that I was fighting Uruks. Did Mithrandir tell you who I am? Did he send you there to save my sorry arse?"

"Ah, you figured it all out," said Legolas quietly, nodding, deciding not to enlighten the man further. Perhaps he would not like to know that the wizard diverted him from his normal mind-set so to save a single Wood Elf.

"You dropped enough hints," Aragorn shifted in his saddle and regarded the ellon critically, concerned that the wizard had given up this secret to someone he knew nothing about, a Wood Elf more likely to be prejudiced against the heir of Isildur. "Was that your way of repaying him for getting you out of Dol Guldur?"

"What? No, that can never be repaid." Legolas looked away; this was nearing dangerous ground he had no wish to cross just yet.

"Then why? You came out of cover to draw the fire of that Uruk archer. You might have died, Legolas." Aragorn reined back his charger and reached for the ellon's arm to stop him, too. "It was a very near thing."

"He said you were worth saving," Legolas shrugged in an attempt to make light of his actions. "I saw that it was so. It isn't as if I planned to be shot; I was just not fast enough. I was not fully recovered yet."

"Why did Mithrandir leave you, then?" Here was the main issue Aragorn had with the entire tale, for he would not have thought Gandalf would leave a wounded person alone in such a place. Something was wrong with the story. "Had he been there, he could have managed my rescue without need to endanger you."

"He is a wizard; they have their own reasons for the things they do, their own agendas." Legolas licked lips that felt as dry as summer leaves. He met the inquisitive stare with silent pleading but instantly realised that was a mistake, for the man's eyes took on a stubborn cast.

"Nay, there must be more than this. Why won't you answer me? Mithrandir told you who I am. Was it he who set you free or were you turned loose on purpose by the Wraiths?" It had suddenly occurred to the man that maybe the Nazgul had tortured the elf into revealing the truth about his heritage and then used the archer for bait. He did not expect his query to have such a strong impact on Legolas, for he did not intend the question to accuse him. Indeed, he considered the elf must be strong indeed to rally after all he'd endured and wreck the evil plot, giving no thought to his own peril.

"You accuse me of treachery, of serving the Shadow?" Legolas growled, face contorted in fury. He jerked his arm free of the man's hold and then backhanded him across the cheek. The report was loud, the force sufficient to throw Aragorn sideways as the horse shied away from the sudden motion. In vain he snatched at the pommel, but Azrubêl half reared and dumped him on the ground. Legolas leaped from his mare and drew forth the long silver knife the child had brought him, slipping it deftly under the rugged chin. "I saved your life and it means nothing, still the lie persists that my people are so easily turned to darkness. Why is it so impossible to believe I am incorrupt? You name me a confederate of the very creatures who put my mother in the breeding pits with their Orcs and Uruks and foul men."

"No, Legolas, that is not what I meant," Aragorn hardly dared breathe for the blade was already cutting his skin. He met the fiery eyes openly, hoping Legolas would have enough control to look and see the truth there. Seconds sped away into history and slowly the fury diminished, though it did not vanish. Another minute and both knife and elf retreated. It was the longest minute of Aragorn's life by far and for several minutes more he could only sit, hands a protective shield about his neck, watching the archer riding off alone.

TBC


	10. Listen

#### Chapter Ten: Listen

When he found the elf, alive and whole, Aragorn experienced such a flood of relief and joy the sensation made him giddy.

He had been three days searching, journeying blind, having discovered an elvish horse left as little trail as the elf guiding her, heading always north and west toward Anduin. Three days imagining Legolas dead, plagued by gruesome images of coming upon the remains, dismembered, half-eaten, the beautiful head severed from the body and disfigured, eye-less, stuck on a pike stabbed down in the earth. When he wasn't seeing those visions, he imagined Legolas captured as he tried to make it past Dol Guldur, returned to the tortures and torments of the Wraiths, where the gift of immortal life became a curse of such proportions his heart quailed to think about it. There were accounts of elves taken captive to Angband when it was newly delved who were still there when the Valar broke the prison open at the end of the First Age, though to call them elves at that point was perhaps optimistic.

The fourth day Aragorn saw Legolas waiting, he and Tuilelindô a pair of dark silhouettes against the western sky. He urged Azrubêl for speed and the closer they came, the more poignant was Legolas' motionless anticipation. Had he been waiting a day? More? Seeing him there, standing beside the mare in that mud-spattered cape and little else, unhurt, uncertain, and unbearably alone had broken the man's heart open. There was no longer any point in pretending his sentiments were superficial and he could only assume this was because of the exchange of light that had been taking place since the very beginning. How else to explain it? He still knew little more than the elf's name.

Legolas did not come running to him this time. He waited, utterly still and silent, alternately radiating irrepressible hope and resigned despondency. It was painfully obvious Legolas had been found only because he wanted to be found, needed to be found, and that this was both difficult for him to accept and impossible to deny, but Aragorn did not care. He would remove those doubts and fears. He wanted to whoop for joy, scold the elf until his ears went deaf, tumble him into the grass and make him shriek with wild abandon, gather him up and never let go. What this indicated for the archer's eternal spirit would just have to be made bearable.

 _There must be a way._

His mind churned even as he slid to the ground and ran to Legolas, snatching him up and pulling him in hard, demanding a kiss that was nearly suffocating in its intensity. He parted from him reluctantly, taking several smaller tastes of the sensuous mouth, the strong jaw, the sun-burned nose, hands winnowing the flaxen mane, feeling Legolas doing the same to him, the touch of his lips upon cheek and neck and chin electric.

"Don't run from me again, Legolas; I beg you will not. You know I am going to follow, so spare the horses, and my heart, the strain," he said, hands firmly bracketed round that fair face, searching blue eyes swirling with doubt then love, with hope and then shame. That gave his heart a jolt and questions flooded his thoughts but he stifled them, drew Legolas tight against his chest, locked protective arms around the sturdy shoulders. A weary sigh sounded and the archer leaned into him, settled his hands lightly at the man's waist.

"I know it now," he murmured. His fingers clasped convulsively at the fabric beneath them. "I will forgive you for naming me a traitor if you will forgive me for putting a knife to your throat."

"Agreed," Aragorn smiled and ran his hand under the cape to caress the bare back. The lean frame shivered and his desire awakened. "I want you," he whispered.

"I am yours," Legolas answered, already unbuckling the heavy sword and casting it away.

He thought the man would take him hard and fast and was ready, even eager for it, but instead Aragorn let him go and went to the horse, gathered bedding and blankets and spread them neatly on the ground. He watched all this, bemused, but when Aragorn came back and took his hand, bent to kiss him softly, led him there with shining eyes, it almost brought Legolas to tears.

They knelt facing each other and Aragorn stripped the elf, a procedure requiring mere seconds, and so he had ample opportunity to savour the naked figure, tasting and touching the familiar flesh, while Legolas did the same for him. When both were nude, their mutual desire exposed, then Aragorn laid the elf down and bent over the red erection. He'd done this for him the night in the meadow and Legolas had come verily unhinged. It was no different now and Aragorn relished the ellon's wanton moans, the way he squirmed and wriggled, the way his fingers tangled in his hair and held on as though to life itself. Legolas was not quiet in ecstasy and Aragorn consumed its bitter essence, wondering how so sweet an experience could yield such unpalatable fluid. The lax penis slipped from his lips as Legolas rolled onto hands and knees and submitted himself; Aragorn mounted without hesitation.

The dry penetration made the elf swallow a groan and the weight of the man made him rigid at first, but by the third thrust he was moving with the potent rhythm and the cries wrung from him were all of pleasure. Aragorn rode him in long lunges, grasping tight to angular hips, watching the supple back flex. He reached out and trailed his fingertip lightly down the groove and grinned when this raised a jerky shudder and a strangled exclamation in the sylvan tongue. A quick flash of huge blue eyes caught him for an instant as the archer peered over his shoulder.

He shifted his position slightly and suddenly the friction round his cock tightened. The next thrust had Aragorn wailing and he lost all rational thought after that, pumping with vigourous abandon against the increased resistance. He spilled calling Legolas' name and paused as the rush simultaneously flayed his soul and filled his heart. Soft and sated, he pulled out to lie beside the archer. They lay thus, face to face, flushed and panting and surrounded by the endless expanse of emerald grass, peaceful in the warm glow of the bond.

"Aragorn."

"Legolas."

They smiled in unison and Aragorn touched the high, blushed cheek, for there was a faint trace of dampness there.

"From happiness, I hope," he said quietly.

"Aye, you know it is so."

"You are not my lover, Legolas."

"No," he smiled faintly, shook his head. "I'm just yours."

"Not just, do not say just," Aragorn tapped his finger against the crimson lips, but his gaze was on the archer's eyes.

"It is the truth. What else should I say?"

"That you are my mate, the other half of my soul. That is the truth."

"Yes." Legolas agreed, pleased the man understood. "I will be a loyal mate, steadfast, and remain at your side until you no longer need me." He had not meant to become morbid, but saying the words made him see it, the moment when Aragorn would send him away, and Legolas could not prevent the stab of pain that gave him nor hide it from the man.

"How could I not need you? Nay, I would never leave you if it were possible, but I am mortal," Aragorn said, shuffling closer to kiss the elf and hold him. Legolas was trembling. "I am sorry; I would not have you suffer. The idea is unbearable. I tried not to love you, Legolas, and this is why."

"Aye, you resisted, but I knew you were the one. The choice was mine to make and I chose you." Legolas rolled him over and stretched himself out atop the virile body, sighing with delight, and settled his head near the man's ear. "Let us make a pact now not to dwell on what must be someday. Our time is short and I would spend it in joy. Sorrow will come in its own time, so why invite it into our lives?"

"Wise words," answered Aragorn, knowing full well that sorrow was already Legolas' constant companion. And he could not help but wonder why Legolas would choose him, knowing this parting awaited them. The answer would change nothing; it was done and could not be undone. "So be it; we will not give our attention to it." He shifted his head and tucked a finger beneath the archer's chin, raising it so to see his eyes, smiled at the happiness there, and gave him a quick, loud kiss on the lips.

Legolas laughed and rolled off him, sprawled out on his back and stretched, arms extended, fingers locked and toes pointed; his spine arched and cracked as a thin moan of exultation squeezed out of his compressed lips. He relaxed and gazed up into the clear skies, listened to the sounds of the empty plains. Immediately the man distracted him from these observations, scrambling closer, half sitting as he propped up his bulk with one arm and lapped at the nearest nipple, then its twin, and then bit the tender flesh. Legolas let him, basking in the adoration, and gave in to the sensations so that his body and what the man was doing to it were all he knew.

Rough fingers stroked his belly and a soft tongue followed, laving a wet trail and dipping into his navel. Lips peppered his sides with delicate pressure, then incisors nibbled down his thighs and calves. Hands parted his legs and the teeth reversed course, nipping back and forth from one leg to the other, higher and higher until he felt hot breath on his scrotum and the bridge of the man's nose nudged at the pouch. He lay absolutely still, panting out soft moans he could not hear, spread his legs and bent the knees. He was erect, the hardness a deep throbbing ache. The tongue swabbed over the tender skin of the sac, the teeth tested its resilience, then the heat of the whole mouth enveloped him. Exquisite fire seared him. Fingers tweaked a nipple and he jerked in surprise, groaned when he was let go too soon, miserable as all contact ceased.

He opened eyes he hadn't realised were closed and saw Aragorn watching him intently, desire burning in the grey depths. The man moved closer, kissed him deeply as he settled between the up-drawn knees and entered him. The thick flesh slid in easily through the slick coating of spent seed there and their bodies connected with a satisfying slap. Aragorn rocked back and rammed him again, broke off the kiss to mark his neck, retreated and advanced anew, driving harder.

He raised himself up on his arms and locked eyes with the elf's, felt his heart swell with a great bubble of exultation to see the expression of erotic anguish in them. Thighs pressed in at his waist, the muscles taut and straining, a hand snatched at his back. He grunted softly, peered down between them where they were joined; it was so good. His pace quickened and Legolas rose to meet him with every thrust and now they were both lost in the pleasure of the motion, concerted in their need to achieve release, just as delighted to let it take forever to reach that moment. When it arrived, they spent together quietly, their cries subdued, and collapsed into a wilted tangle of limbs and golden hair, breathing deeply of each other's contentment.

"Besnô," whispered Legolas. Half squashed beneath the man, he struggled to lift a lethargic hand and settle it against Aragorn's neck.

"Another name? I am no longer your hero, melethen?" (my love)

"You are, but now you are much more. You would say 'hervenn' in Imladris."

"Husband," Aragorn smiled and kissed the salty skin of the arm draped nearest his lips. He gave a soft laugh. "This name gives me joy."

"More than any other?"

"Aye, none so sweet to hear as this."

"Ai Valar," Legolas snorted, pretending mockery of the romantic sentiment, but it pleased him. "Why so many? It seems that you want to hide your true self."

"True enough, a consequence of my forebear's notoriety. My father was killed because of it and my mother feared the same fate for me. She insisted the name be hidden and Lord Elrond agreed, but only until I reached majority. I have been collecting names ever since."

"Your father was killed?" Legolas shifted until he could see the man's face. "That is terrible! When? Who is this forebear?"

"I was but a small child then. Legolas, you said you knew," Aragorn peered at him and saw that he truly did not. He groaned and sat up, helping Legolas up, too.

"How would I know this? I just met you."

"You said Mithrandir told you."

"He told me that a noble man would fall prey to evil in Baran Dalf, that this man would be able to heal me if I could save him. I waited; you came."

"Elbereth," Aragorn frowned and shook his head. "Wizards, and that one in particular, tend to leave out some of the important details when they issue their pronouncements and make their plans."

"So then who are you? Is it really so horrible?"

"Bad enough," he complained, but there was no getting around it. The elf would find out sooner or later. "Isildur's heir."

"Ah." Legolas brows rose high and then he frowned. This only reinforced the unpleasant fact that Aragorn would not be his for very long. Prophesies abounded and the Wood Elves were not ignorant of them; here was a lineage that must not be lost. Aragorn might even be this promised saviour. He was not thinking of that now, though, and the archer could see his fear to be judged by Isildur's mistakes. He bent near and examined the face before him carefully, bored deep inside the mind behind the worried grey eyes, swept his awareness through that part of the man's soul he had taken to bolster his own. Then he shrugged and lay back on the blanket, pillowed his head on his arms. "I don't see it."

"What does that mean?" Aragorn was caught between relief that Legolas didn't care and concern that he might not seem a worthy representative of the Kings of old.

"It means your soul is not touched by the same flaws Isildur owned. He was a brave man, anyway, and a strong leader. His great deeds are forgotten now, erased by that one error. Why? They were great deeds, were they not? Few, be they human or elf-kind, could resist once in the very grip of such evil as Isildur held. But you seem more like his father Elendil."

"You knew him?" Aragorn was pleased with this reply and pulled Legolas back up to face him, excited to learn more of the hero of the Last Alliance, for this is what he hoped in his most secret heart: that he was like Elendil.

"No! Valar, that was long before my time. Do I look so old?" Legolas laughed, but it was cut off in an instant, replaced by a wild-eyed look of horror and he turned away. "Nay, do not answer!"

He was revolted, seeing himself as Aragorn must: his spirit diminished, his heart riven, his very person marked by the darkness in which he'd been immersed and immured. So viscid was that black terror that his own light smothered and the memory of it blotted out the beauty of the union just shared. He brought his hands before him, fully expecting to see stained, disfigured, and twisted claws and the air gushed from his lungs in his profound relief to see it wasn't so. He found himself shaking and could not stop. Strong arms encircled him and he went rigid within them, afraid to look the man in the face again.

"Legolas, do not despair," Aragorn demanded, alarmed by this abrupt shift in mood. "I don't care about your age; it means nothing for the First-born. You look young to my eyes melethen; be at peace." He had never heard of an elf being concerned about how old he looked and were Legolas not so distraught it might be amusing. Yet Legolas had been two years in Dol Guldur and the fear of what might result from such torments still preyed on his mind and heart. Had not Aragorn thought it, too? He gave the shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "You are not changed, Legolas; First-born you remain."

"Am I? But for Mithrandir's cleansing light I would be lost. He scoured me clean and left me a hollow husk." There was a gulping sigh and another shudder but it left the elf quieter when it passed.

"It cannot be doubted." The man found this description of the wizard's actions highly disturbing, but set it aside for later. "You killed the servants of Shadow to spare me. You gave of your eternal light and healed me. Orcs do not do these things, do they?" Aragorn smiled, catching the blue eye peering at him from its uttermost corner.

"No."

"Then there is no need to fear, melethen."

"No? What if there is an even worse fate. What if I am changing into a shade like the Nazgul."

"Mithrandir was satisfied to leave you to save me; does that sound as though he suspected your spirit is corrupt?"

"Nay." Legolas presented a worried, tentative smile.

"Nay." Aragorn grinned, glad this crisis was over. "Come then, tell me the awful truth." He pitched his tone to jest, but Legolas startled and gasped aloud.

"What?" He stared, eyes wide and wounded. "What truth?"

"Your age, Legolas," the man explained, regretting his attempt to make light of the matter, but kept the joking tone. "Are you so very ancient and august?" Aragorn squeezed tighter, shook him a bit, frantic to dispel this black despair, all the while worrying what Legolas would so fear to reveal.

"No, no, I am not." Legolas swallowed and let himself breathe. Perhaps it did not show after all. Perhaps he really could be healed and become as he had been. _No._ Perhaps it was possible to do evil and then do good after and be remembered for that, for the good. _Perhaps._ "I look normal to you?" Legolas dared a peak and found the man's bewilderment encouraging.

"Only if it is normal to be so exceptionally comely, which for you it is." He felt the stiff frame relax and heard a deep breath come and go. Legolas offered him a sheepish half-smile and shook his head. Aragorn returned the smile, but was not foolish enough to disregard the outburst, for Legolas was rapidly losing control. Whatever this malignant truth was, it was surfacing despite his efforts to hide it. "If you have need to speak, I will listen. Will you tell me?"

"My age?" Legolas dissembled, carefully extracting himself from the close embrace. "I thought it was not important, but if you must know I have lived to see fifty-two springs under the eaves of Greenwood."

"I never thought you'd be that young," Aragorn blurted out, letting Legolas have a little distance but re-establishing a firm hold on one arm. He did not want to have to chase him down again. "It makes sense to me now, why the King wouldn't let you go with the trading party. Feeling something was not right, he would not want to include someone so inexperienced in the group, so your brother went instead, Doronarth - Noble Oak. Oh!" He recalled suddenly why the ellon was familiar. "I know this name." The man looked upon the elf he'd taken for his mate in disbelieving wonder. Legolas was no mere woodland warrior.

"How so?"

"I recall he came to Imladris once, long ago when I was a boy. Lord Elrond called him Hîl od Oropher." (Heir of Oropher)

"Yes, he was that," Legolas murmured, "but I never thought of him that way; he was my brother. He died using his body to shield our Naneth. Would that it had not been so, but his spirit must be exalted in Námo's Halls."

"Aye, I am certain of it." Aragorn moved closer again and gently massaged Legolas' slumping shoulders.

"And our Nana will be there with him now." _Will I be allowed to join them?_

"You have lost so much so quickly, melethen. You are scarcely older than I and that in years only, for I have seen forty-nine springs."

"Only in years? That sounds somewhat condescending, echil. I am the one who saved your life, remember?" Legolas growled and moved away from the consoling touch, glad for the insult so he could feel anger instead of misery and guilt. He started to rummage amid the discarded clothes for his cloak. Aragorn stopped him.

"I will never forget and I did not mean to sound haughty. I am surprised, nothing more." Then he grimaced and shook his head. "That isn't entirely true; I am also deeply concerned. Where were your kin that they let you ride out alone seeking to avenge your mother and brother? It should not have been permitted."

"I was not a child then anymore than I am now," Legolas told him. "Who would stop me? Doronarth is dead, his family submerged in grief and impotent outrage. Can't you understand? They all know I would have gone with the trading party and wish Adar had not prevented it. Now it is too late. They look at me in dismay and disappointment, for how can I replace him?"

"Nay, surely not; this is sorrow speaking, meleth," Aragorn countered, but Legolas was not listening.

"Our Adar also was devastated and still is," Legolas continued. "Nor did I go alone, but that is all beside the point for I was charged to avenge her and make the Wraiths pay and these things I have done. That is why I must get home; my father awaits me there. I have a promise to fulfil, Aragorn, and I need you there to see it done. Say not that you will desert me now over this trifle."

"No, I would not desert you. How can you think it?" Aragorn was stunned. "But this is unconscionable. Who charged you with this impossible task?" It flashed through his mind that Legolas had gone into that hellacious place a warrior untried and untouched. He dragged him close, needing the security of the contact for it was suddenly all too real. He might have lost him so easily; he might as easily never have met him at all.

"My father could not go, though he tried. We had to confine him for he was blinded in his grief and rage. Greenwood needs him; while Thranduil rules she will never falter. There was no one else who could stand in his place and go after her. He was mad with sorrow; he has lost so much already." Legolas blinked back tears and crossed his arms over his heart.

"And would not wish to lose you, too," Aragorn reminded gently.

"Nay, that is not our way," Legolas said calmly, much comforted by the man's unfaltering support. "It was Ada who bestowed upon me the honour of this commission. No other could he trust to see it done."

"Ai, Legolas, that was truly madness," said Aragorn, both horrified and saddened for his beloved. "You said yourself none escape the Black Tower. But for Mithrandir's intervention, Thranduil would have lost you, too. How great his despair to learn you had gone, how desperate his remorse to have asked it! No wonder you are so anxious to get home."

"Nay, that isn't it," Legolas whispered. "You cannot see it; something this terrible, this cruel. I am glad you can't imagine it; I don't want you to." He wrapped his arms round the man's waist and clung tight. "Don't ask me anymore, please don't."

Aragorn complied, a chilling ache settling in his stomach, for he discovered he did not want to know the details of this unholy commission. It was clear anyway; Thranduil had not expected Legolas to return to him, had sent his young son to die a horrible and purposeless death. He held Legolas gently, stroked the golden mane, pressed consoling kisses against the bowed head, afraid to say anything more for already he began to suspect this truth was so unspeakable it would destroy the archer to admit it.

After a time, Legolas sang, the music so sombre and his lament so afflicted that Aragorn wept for him. The Song freed them both from the despair and melancholia and they discovered a fierce desire to rekindle the joy their union had granted them. Yet they coupled tenderly, respecting the fragility of life, the vagaries of fate that had brought them together, and celebrating the strength of the bond they shared. They passed the night peacefully, Legolas keeping watch over Aragorn as he slept.

  
The gifts from Rohan delighted Legolas, especially the bow, and he was beyond pleased to have decent garments, but made Aragorn swear they had not belonged to Ari before he donned them. They were over-big, being Bjorn's, and the boots were unusable, but the quiver held the shirt snug and the makeshift sword-belt did the same for the trousers. Legolas completed his toilet by clasping the cape about him as he had before. Arrows sprouted near his right shoulder and the bow was in his hand and now he looked like a warrior again instead of a beggar. Yet, he was not content, frowning down at his bare toes and the baggy trousers puddled atop them, and went to Aragorn's horse. There he reorganised the pack and thus freed two lengths of leather stays. He crouched low and used these to bind the loose fabric tight against his calves and when he stood burst out in bright laughter, for the pants puffed out atop this confinement.

"Elbereth, I look ridiculous," he grinned, but hoped Aragorn would contradict him.

"Well, I prefer how you look without any clothes, and the garments of men can never be fit for a prince among the First-born, but it is the best Rohan could give," he answered.

"Hah! You kept me naked for many days, hervenn, and I admit the benefits that offers are compelling, but no one should go uncovered for all to see."

Aragorn did not miss the archer's pointed disregard for the reference to his status, but decided not to question it. Legolas was calm again and he hoped to keep him that way. What would happen when they entered Greenwood he hated to guess, and this mentioned promise loomed over all like a gathering storm. They mounted up and pointed the horses' noses toward the river, now not so far away and by dusk were close enough to smell the sticky marsh mud bounding the broad flood. With unerring steps Legolas led them to the very ditch that had sheltered them their first night together and here they made camp. Over the rabbits Legolas shot and Aragorn roasted, they argued what to do, for they were still only two against however many Orcs might pour from Dol Guldur.

"Perhaps we should go first to Lorien and see if Lord Celeborn might spare us a few archers. Orcs are unlikely to attack an armed troop of Galadhrim," Aragorn suggested.

"No, that will only draw more Orcs and maybe the Wraiths, too. We can sneak past the Tower unseen."

"How so? Two riders alone are an easy and tempting target, a troop of elvish archers formidable."

"You have not been in there. The Wraiths have Orcs and men to spare, more than the arrows in the quivers of a single band of Galadhrim archers. Is Lord Celeborn ready to make war on Dol Guldur and empty his woods to do it? Nay, we will travel under the sun and stay on the western bank until we reach the Forest Road. Long before we reach it, we will be in the lands of Beorn. The Wraiths do not challenge Beorn."

"Even so, they will be watching for us and give chase as soon as we cross Limlight, knowing we escaped into Rohan, and those Uruks are impervious to bright sun. We should turn west and cross into the Field of Celebrant, traversing the fringe of the Golden Wood. I am sure the Lady will grant us leave to pass the Black Tower beneath the cover of the Mallyrn."

"I do not want to go to Lothlorien; I must not delay longer. There won't be any Uruks this time, just warg riders. Our horses are much too swift to be caught in a chase now that we are not both on Tuilelindô's back."

"How can you be sure about the Uruks?" Aragorn demanded and remembered this was what had made him so curious in the first place. "What were they doing in Dol Guldur?"

"What indeed," intoned Legolas grimly. "They were sent for reasons I do not understand, but I know they would not stay for they do not answer to the Wraiths."

"Were they messengers or had they some prisoner? Why would Mordor send so many? This bodes ill for both Greenwood and Lothlorien whether they remain or not."

"No prisoner was in their keeping, but beyond that I cannot say. But they were sent from Orthanc, not Mordor," stated the elf.

"Orthanc? Saruman holds it; surely I would have heard had it fallen to the enemy." Aragorn looked to the archer uneasily, for already he had made several prophetic announcements and the man wondered if he had true foresight.

"You have been to Orthanc?"

"No, but even so Saruman communicates with Ecthelion regularly and even with Rohan at times. I would have heard, Legolas."

"Perhaps, but I know what I saw, and I saw the Hand of the White Wizard on the shield of one of those Uruks."

"Stolen from a fallen soldier," Aragorn shrugged, relieved there was an explanation. One corrupt Maia was enough for Middle-earth to battle.

"Maybe," Legolas said, but he shook his head, brow furrowed as he searched his memory. The shield had been shrouded, the emblem revealed when the covering tore in the battle, so it could be as Aragorn said. Yet there were traces of things he'd heard in Dol Guldur that had not been erased by the pain and torment, nor Mithrandir's cleansing, and he did not believe the man was right.

"I hold with going through the borders of Lorien. Why do you object?" Aragorn returned to the issue at hand. "Indeed, it would be right to warn the Lord and Lady about those Uruks."

"Mithrandir will take care of it if they don't know, but in Greenwood we say that the Lady is far-sighted. There is little she does not see." He shivered a bit and pulled his cloak closer.

"Ah yes, Mithrandir. He left you wounded and alone in Baran Dalf. I'll have words for him about that when next we meet." Aragorn pitched a greasy bone into the darkened plains with particular venom and glanced back to catch Legolas smiling smugly, pleased at the display of loyal outrage on his behalf. Aragorn found he was unable to squelch either his concern or his displeasure. "Why did he leave you?"

"I don't think he was in Dol Guldur because of me. He found me and did what he could, then went back in, I think, though I was not really thinking clearly then," Legolas said. He paused and his gaze turned inward. "I remember telling him there were others of my kin inside. Perhaps he returned to try and save them, too. I don't know if he completed his original task before he found me or after."

Aragorn's eyes brightened in surprise. "Then there is hope for your Naneth. All the more reason to go to Lorien, for surely the wizard would take her there for healing. Mayhap she awaits you there."

Legolas flinched and his features twisted with the anguish afflicting his heart. "Nay, she is dead without doubt," he mourned. He felt ill and scrambled up to his feet, lurched away and made it beyond the fire's light before disgorging his dinner. Aragorn was at his side at once apologising and consoling and this made him ill anew. He heard himself howling through the wrenching heaves and clung to the arms that bolstered him up.

"Ai, Legolas, forgive me. I should not have mentioned it, only I could not help but hope," Aragorn said. He held the elf's hair back and supported him, but when the screaming started his blood ran cold. It was an unholy sound such as he had never heard from one of the First-born. By the time Legolas' crippling fury was spent, the man was trembling and the elf was wilted and weeping, the tears penetrated by long, low moans. Aragorn led him back to the fire and settled with him in his arms, unsure what to do or say. Legolas needed to come to terms with what had happened and as a healer the man knew this was the time, now before they crossed into dangerous terrain. Perhaps he could convince him to go to Lothlorien and seek healing there. "Speak, Legolas. I am listening, melethen."

"What would you have me say?" Legolas sniffed, crumpled in the man's lap. "I cannot. If I tell you, you'll desert me or kill me."

"What? Nay, Legolas, that is madness." And Aragorn feared it truly was.

"I cannot die yet; there's the promise I made."

"Valar! Legolas, I am certainly not going to hurt you, much less kill you. Melethen, you must tell me what happened. I can't imagine what you've been through, but you survived it and I would not have you fade from this grief. Tell me before it destroys you."

"Could you do it, I wonder," the elf mumbled, snuggling closer and locking his arms around the man's back. "I can't."

"Then I will say what I think happened."

"No." But Legolas lay utterly still and listened.

"Aye." Aragorn considered what Legolas had already revealed and shuddered, took a steadying breath and began. "You mentioned breeding pits so you must have seen them. They made you watch, didn't they, as she was used and debased." Expecting a violent denial, Aragorn was horrified to hear Legolas laugh. The soft, lyrical sound acquired a manic edge and he tightened his hold on the elf, afraid Legolas' mind was already broken. Then the laughter ceased and he spoke and the man realised it was so much worse than that.

"Made me watch, if only that was all," he groaned and buried his face deeper against Aragorn's belly. "They made me participate. I couldn't; I was there to kill her not to rape her."

"What?" Aragorn grabbed Legolas and threw him over, needing to see his face, held him pinned to the earth. He could not have heard right. "What did you say? You"

"No one told me," Legolas said, calmer now, resigned to whatever happened. "They said she would already be gone when I got there." Maybe he could have Aragorn fulfil the promise after he was dead. "Maybe that's why I was thrown into your path."

"What are you talking about?" Aragorn shook him roughly. "You are not making any sense."

"I'm sorry," Legolas sighed, "you'll have to go on in my place. Do you think you can manage it?"

"Legolas, stop!" Aragorn shook him again but the archer was limp, head lolling, a dead weight in his hands.

"You have to understand about the promise. It's important and if I can't do it you will have to. Such is the lot of a husband. I promised her I would see it done. It was her dying wish, Aragorn. Such things must be honoured."

"All right." Aragorn forced himself to stillness though his heart was hammering. What had been done to Legolas was breaking him but he was still coherent. He had to regain control of the situation and try to get him through this crisis. Lothlorien was not far if he could stabilise the archer enough to get him there. "Tell me about your mother's wish, then."

"Yes," Legolas dragged himself up, licked his lips, sat with his back to the man so he did not have to see Aragorn's face. He didn't want to see it, the moment when love turned to disgusted hatred. "They said she would be gone, that what I would kill might look like her but was not her."

"Kill?" Aragorn choked on the word, set a steadying hand on the elf's shoulder. This could not be what it sounded like.

"They said her soul would already have fled long before I got there, because they would have raped her many times over by then. It took days, you know, to get there. Dol Guldur is many leagues from Thranduil's stronghold." Legolas paused and dared a glance over his shoulder, saw the pained misery in Aragorn's grey eyes. "But it was all just lies so I would not hesitate. I understand it now; how would they know? No one ever returned from Dol Guldur to say otherwise and we have to believe the lies. We can't leave the females in there alive when they're captured. Males are just castrated and slowly tortured to death, but females breed new Orcs."

"Legolas." Aragorn swallowed and his grip on the elf tightened, unable to deny the truth any longer. "They sent you, your father sent you to kill her." He was struggling now not to be sick himself. "To kill her and then die there, too. This is madness."

"Madness? How could I let them do that to her? Even if it was only her body, how could I let them use her, turn her into one of their foul brood mares? I was never more determined to do anything in all my life than stop them. So I was prepared, so angry I never considered any other possibility. I was exultant when they captured me." He sighed deeply and shook his head, gave a hoarse laugh. "The Wraiths thought it was funny and handed my torture over to the one who'd given them this incredible victory. Ari was an eager pupil. I almost forgot why I was there it was so bad. The Nazgul didn't, and one day when I'd been beaten and raped so often I no longer felt it anymore, they decided to remind me." Legolas stopped, lost for a time in the horror of these memories, until Aragorn squeezed his shoulder.

"You need not go on," said the man and his words were wet with sorrow. "Enough, melethen, enough."

"But the promise. You said you would listen, Besnô nín."

"Ai, Legolas. So be it," Aragorn swallowed back a sob, nodding, and reminded himself this promise had kept the archer alive thus far. He moved closer and gently rubbed the elf's back. "I will hear it all, then."

"The Nazgul were men once. All that is in a man's nature they have warped and twisted beyond recognition. Where a good man's hunger for power and control makes him a strong and compassionate leader, the Wraiths delight only in enslaving and suborning others. Where a good man enjoys the drives of his body to make a family to love and cherish, the Wraiths revel in the power of sexual manipulation, forcing the body to respond against the orders of the mind or the desires of the heart. To hold this power over one of the First-born thrilled them as nothing else save having their victims die at the moment of release.

"As they had done so often, they had Ari tease me into rigid arousal, then kept me there in a mad frenzy of need, made me beg and plead, raped me repeatedly and used my organ as an instrument to rape others, who were used in the same way, long chains of hard cocks thrusting and tearing at whatever bloody hole was next in line: male, female, Orc, human, elf, it didn't matter. I remember while this was happening how glad I was that I did not have to see the face of the person I hurt, and how strange for the Wraiths to allow this mercy."

In the deepening night, Aragorn vomited. Legolas did not seem to notice his distress and was still talking.

"One by one, the others in the line were given release and killed, so this I deemed would be my fate, contenting myself that Ari would die, too, since it was he behind me. That's when the Wraith's reminded me, whispered her name in my ear as my rapist spilled. They killed him, pulled him off me, and then it was just me and the poor soul I was raping. It was like a contest; whoever came first died first, but now I didn't want to die without making sure she was dead. Oh, how they laughed to see me struggle!

"I managed to pull out and the naked body I'd so horribly abused collapsed onto the filthy floor, too weak to remain upright, and I fell to my knees too, wailing, struggling not to masturbate for of course I was still hard, and racked with guilt besides, thinking the elf was dead. It wasn't so. She rolled over, breasts heavy and belly huge. I found out my rape chain was only three long: Ari, me, and my mother. My mother, not an empty husk whose soul had fled, staring up at me in horror, and I had to kill her. Indeed, she begged me to, but I had no weapon at all. So she spoke to me in the old tongue, said I would have to strangle her. Then she made me the promise, a double promise, part for her to fulfil, part for me. To refuse my part meant she would refuse hers and never forgive me for what I had to do, for what I had already done.

"She still wore her wedding band, for the Wraiths thought it amusing for her to have that constant reminder of her lost love, to know how she betrayed her husband, her people. She gave it to me, made me swear to take it back to Thranduil so he would know she was gone, so that her life would never be used as a lever against him. That is the promise and you can see why it is so important to see it done, not just for me though I'll go mad without her forgiveness. She turned back over so I would not have to look into her eyes while I did it and she did not struggle. The Wraiths did not realise what I was doing until it was too late.

"I don't remember what happened after that. I know the torture went on but don't know how long. Who can mark the passing of days when there is no light? I know I should have been trying to escape, but I could not manage it. I couldn't bear to be conscious for my fingers still felt that last pulse in her veins; they feel it even now. Then I was roused from oblivion by the scorching light of Mithrandir's Song and found out she didn't have to die at all. If I had not killed her, he would have saved her instead.

"Once he got the truth out of me, he left to go make sure the unborn Orc she'd conceived was dead, too. I lived for the promise and for you, a chance to save something instead of destroying. I didn't mean to love you, either. I know I am not fit to be anyone's mate, a kin-slayer, but I was so empty and I thought the poison would finish me anyway. There is nothing more to tell. Are you going to kill me now?"

"No, Legolas," Aragorn rasped, barely able to form the words. He wrapped the elf tight in his arms and held him, knowing not what else he could do.

TBC


	11. Gathering Strength

#### Chapter Eleven: Gathering Strength

Aragorn lay flush against the elf's naked back, the dead weight of his solid, mortal frame pressing him down into the blankets and bedding, virtually obscuring the slender figure. Truly exhausted in body and soul, drained and depleted as he had never been, he couldn't move, couldn't even hold Legolas pinned boneless beneath him. Their bodies remained joined though Aragorn was flaccid now, and he fought descent into the tempting stillness of dreamless slumber. Someone must keep watch; Legolas wasn't fit for it, finally quiescent and spent, hopefully submerged in healing sleep; Aragorn was little better. He must move, must. With effort he raised his head and brushed dry lips against the sweat smeared shoulder blade on which he'd rested, sought for strength to lift him from arms that felt like leaden rubber. At the first hint he planned to disengage, a low moan of misery escaped the elf.

"No, please. Stay."

"Melethen, someone must stand watch and I would have you sleep."

"Nay. Please, Aragorn. Why do you always make me beg?"

"I'm sorry. Be at peace, I will stay."

Wearily he laid his head back down and at once could tell the archer was weeping freely for the shoulders beneath him twitched and shook, and there were tell-tale sniffles that sadly underscored how young his mate really was. Legolas hadn't the means to even try to contain a sorrow this immense and it was clearly destroying him. Just thinking it made the man cringe; how had he become embroiled in this sordid nightmare?

"Nay, hush now, Legolas. I am here. Please, melethen."

Aragorn sighed and laid down another kiss on the quaking spine, guilt ridden for it was true, he had resisted Legolas' advances after the gruelling narration was over. What was he supposed to think when the archer's recitation ended and he became amorous? It was the last thing on the man's mind and he'd been shocked and frightened over the implications given the tale just told. Was Legolas excited by the retelling? Aragorn thought so and had attempted to divert him from what he could only perceive as a warped, twisted craving for the very torments that had broken him.

Cautiously unresponsive, he had gently hindered the archer, deflected impatient fingers digging at his clothes, turned his rough cheek to fervent kisses, all the while urging Legolas toward Song, for that had been his outlet before. Then Legolas had indeed laced his frantic efforts with wheedling pleas, thinking Aragorn's recalcitrance was meant to heighten his desire, playing along. _'Please, take me. I need you. Fuck me, Aragorn. Give me light.'_ It was a moment or two before he realised he was being truly rebuffed and then his confused eyes recorded the admonishing aversion in Aragorn's, saw that he was trying to hide his scandalised sensibilities. The man watched in useless remorse as his disgust and horror became Legolas'. Mortified embarrassment flooded over the heat of the ellon's desire and drowned it. He leaped up, face averted, apologising as he walked away.

He was in no frame of mind to be alone and Aragorn followed, was beside him when he began screaming out curses, condemning his father for sending him to do so horrible a thing, his mother for extracting that promise, the Wraiths for infecting him with their sick cruelty, Mithrandir for making him live to realise what he'd done, himself for doing it, Aragorn for despising what that had made him. Concerned, the man had reached for him and a slight touch on the arm earned him a fist in the jaw and before he knew what was happening he was sprawled on the ground with an infuriated Wood Elf looming over him.

Legolas spat upon him, shouted the most vile slurs against Aragorn, then rained despicable obscenities right at the most vulnerable place in the man's heart, his mother. Aragorn mastered his reactions by reminding himself what he'd just learned and remained silent, but Legolas only became more offensive. He started issuing expletives in Black Speech, mingled with despairing pronouncements in his native tongue, one moment hateful, the next wretched. Still the man abjured from retaliation, spoke honest words of reassurance, countered every charge that he meant to desert his mate, stayed on the ground, and prayed Legolas would soon run out of fuel for this anger.

The instant he thought this, he realised Legolas' desire was not a response to reliving the brutal treatment that had become his daily life. He genuinely needed his soul-light replenished, the vital energy expended in the telling of his torment. The man envisioned the fair feä torn with rending gashes wrought by guilt and shame, light pouring from these invisible tears like blood from a sword wound.

Slowly he stood, watching Legolas tense and ready himself, expecting what Aragorn didn't want to imagine. He showed his hands: empty. He stepped into the crackling aura and Legolas fell silent in the middle of his tirade, eyes immense and filled with frantic misery. He took a step back; Aragorn advanced. _'Hervenn'_ he said and carefully reached for the stricken archer, cupped the fair face between his hands, and kissed the mouth that had spewed forth such vile insults, sucking the offending tongue and laving the mocking lips. Before he came away, Legolas collapsed in his arms, begging forgiveness. Aragorn silenced those pleas with more kisses.

He picked him up and carried him back to the camp, spread him over the blankets, stripped him, set about stirring his ardour anew. It took some doing but once he was also naked, Legolas began to show interest, kissing back, fingers playing through his chest hair. During all this preliminary stimulation he could hardly look into his husband's eyes, but the man persisted, infusing every touch with his light as he had done while Legolas languished under the poison's assault. As soon as he managed to get the elf erect, he'd sucked him dry and immediately fucked him, coming hard and loud, then whispered a single word in a pointed ear: _'Hervenn'_.

That started the tears flowing and they'd hardly stopped thereafter, though Aragorn rallied and filled Legolas with his seed twice over, using the time required to recover his strength to lavish the ellon with gentle touch and loving promises to see him through whatever awaited in Greenwood. Now he knew there was nothing left he could give until sleep replenished him, but could not help worrying what might happen if he slipped into slumber while Legolas was in this condition. The sniffly sobs were the worst and the man despaired of what to do to help him.

"What happens after that?" The muffled query arose from the bereft ellon and he stirred, turned his head to clear the matted yellow hair from his face, laid his cheek back down, drew a stumbling breath.

"After?" Aragorn had no idea what he was asking, lost in his own thoughts and the advancing fog of heavy sleep.

"After I fulfil the promise, what then?"

"I don't know," Aragorn tried to focus. He wasn't even sure Legolas could make it to Greenwood. "You'll come with me to Eriador."

"You would have me beside you still?"

There was no hiding the hope and wonder in that question and Aragorn smiled, found means to kiss the shoulder beneath his cheek once more. "You are my mate, Legolas. Want you beside me 'til I die. Sleep now, melethen."

"Aye."

A long sigh followed this and a brittle shudder racked the slender frame, but then Legolas lay quiet and Aragorn gave thanks to Estë for granting him peace at last. He meant to rest only until he was certain Legolas was deep in a healing slumber, his intention to rise and stand the watch, but the man dropped into oblivion without even realising it.

He awoke first, the soft light of a new dawn brightening the sky and the smell of wood smoke curling through the mist. He was still pressed atop the elf and moved himself carefully, determined for Legolas not to wake until his spirit was ready, and settled beside his mate so he could see his face, pulling the blanket back over them as he snuggled close to the warm body. He brushed the tangled tresses back and kissed the smooth forehead, and it wasn't until Legolas stirred and wriggled closer to him that he realised they were not alone.

It was the blanket that finally made it through his hazy perception. He hadn't managed to cover them before sleep engulfed him, had he? And surely the fire would have died hours ago, yet he heard it crackling away merrily. At once he began a bizarre struggle with the woollen cover, attempting to get out of it quickly without disturbing Legolas. Where was his sword? Nay, surely it was Selwyn and his men or they'd already be dead. Still, how could he fall asleep and leave them vulnerable like this? Then he detected the distinct aroma of pipe weed and a deep rumbling chuckle stalled his efforts. Aragorn looked over his shoulder to see Gandalf warming his hands at the blaze, sharp eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Well met, Aragorn. I see you found him," said the wizard, pointing at the elf with the long stem of his pipe.

"Say rather that he found me," grumbled Aragorn, more than a little embarrassed to be caught in so revealing a situation. There was no means to present this as anything but what it was. He sat up, careful to keep the blanket strategically draped over his nakedness and the elf's bare rump, sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. A soft thump made him look to find Mithrandir had tossed him his pants, so he put them on, arranged the covers over his mate, touched him tenderly, and joined the wizard at the fire. "I've a thing or two to say to you," he began, but a mug of tea was shoved under his nose and he took it with gruff thanks, sipped, and realised he was famished. "Have you food?"

Mithrandir laughed and shook his head. "That isn't what I expected you'd say, but yes." He leaned for his pack and handed the man a small packet. "Lembas should restore you quickly."

"You have been to Lorien?" Aragorn ate the way bread slowly, for it was a rare gift and he was not about to disregard it, yet the sweet taste was dry in his mouth given the import of the Lady's hand in this situation.

"Yes. Galadriel thought you might need something to improve your vigour," the old Maia joked, eyes darting quickly to Legolas and back. He knew the man was angry, but hoped to soften his wrath a bit.

This did not set well with Aragorn, and not only for the obvious reasons. "If this was foreseen then why wasn't help sent? Legolas almost died."

"She did not foresee his capture, only that he had been captured." Mithrandir's face contracted into an aggrieved scowl. "She contacted me at once and I got there as quickly as possible, Aragorn."

"That is not what I meant," said the man. "He was wounded and you left him to go to Lorien, not back to the Tower as he believes. Why did you not take him with you? Surely you could see how dire his need for healing. I cannot imagine what it was like to suffer this mental hell he's in alone. He waited and was wounded again saving me. He almost died," he repeated more strongly.

"First, I did go back into Dol Guldur," Mithrandir straightened and levelled upon him a gaze filled with the might and majesty of the Timeless Shores, "but it was a fruitless search. Second, my reasons for going to Lorien need not concern you; suffice it to say they were vital. Third, I did not know what would transpire when you arrived on the scene. The Mirror showed only that you were on a misguided course leading to certain death and that Legolas was vanishing into Shadow. After what he'd done, he needed someone to save." Mithrandir was genuinely troubled by the elf's additional torments and stood on creaking knees to go see for himself that he was alive. A touch told him the physical danger was past and he returned to the fire with a sad sigh. "I left him fully armed and did my best to give him reasons to stay alive until you showed up. Was it a risk that you or he or both might be killed in that fight? Yes, but it was certain that you would both be lost if the two of you never crossed paths."

"Maybe so, but I say again: if you had stayed you could as easily have prevented my death and the wound he took on my behalf." Aragorn stood tall and met the Maia's gaze boldly, certain in his heart not even the Lords of the West would gainsay him.

"Aye, but then there would have been no bond between you, would there?" Mithrandir snapped. He could see Aragorn was completely taken aback by this and indeed, it was more than he had meant to say at this point. He continued before the man gathered sufficient wits to respond. "Besides, even a wounded Wood Elf fully armed is nearly invulnerable."

"I cannot believe you just said that! This Wood Elf is strong and valiant, more so than any of the First-born I have met, but invulnerable is not a word to use for him. Mithrandir, he is utterly broken," Aragorn admonished, disturbed that not only could the wizard have prevented what happened, he had acted purposefully to bring it to be.

"Nay, not completely else he would not be here with you now. He is even stronger than you guess," said the wizard, eyes again scrutinising the unconscious archer. _A double-sided bond! Each saved the other's life._

"I hope you are right, but the things he endured may be worse than you know. Did the Mirror show you what happened to his mother?"

"You're asking if I know how she died," frowned Mithrandir. "Yes, but not from the Mirror; it showed me nothing. I learned it from Legolas himself during the cleansing. That is why I put him in your path, knowing you could heal him."

"His bodily hurts, perhaps, but even that was thanks to his own resilience more than anything I did. You should have taken him to the Lady of Light who might have healed more than his body." Aragorn was becoming angrier by the second. "It is unconscionable behaviour and I would not believe it of you were I not witness to it, but there he lies."

"The kinds of injuries he has could not be healed in Lorien. He is elf-kind, Aragorn, and has killed his own. More, he has killed his mother. There is only one cure for such evil, at least on this side of the Sundering Sea, and there is cause to keep him here a while yet."

"What cure?"

"The unconditional love of a mated spouse."

"I see." Aragorn was sceptical to say the least and shook his head, set his cup down, peered back at Legolas. The elf lay motionless, for all the world as lifeless as a corpse and the man shivered. He returned his gaze to Mithrandir. "I don't think there is love enough in all of Middle-earth to ease his heart now."

"You underestimate both your heart and his," countered Mithrandir. "He is not the first to suffer such a soul-wound. How do you think Galadriel survived after Alqualondë? Only the unrelenting devotion of her mate stabilised her spirit and turned her away from the darkness growing there. Had she not met Celeborn, she would have gone the way of the Feänorion Princes. All of them were lost, one by one, yet she remains."

"She did not kill her mother," barked Aragorn.

"I did not say it would be an easy cure," intoned the wizard. "I have already done much work on his soul, for there was a cancerous darkness there devouring his light until it was all but gone. A little longer and he would have been lost forever, First-born no more."

"He mentioned something of that treatment," said Aragorn bitterly.

"Don't be a fool, Aragorn. I did what had to be done, as did you. What more would you have?"

"I would have this fate removed from him. I would reverse time and stop him from undertaking so horrible a task." Aragorn stood and paced the camp, agitated because of course what he wished was impossible. "Do you know that part of it? He did not need to be there at all, should not have been there. His father sent him to so bleak an end I cannot even speak the words without the bile rising to my lips. What kind of father does this?"

"Best not let him hear you make such disparaging remarks," warned Mithrandir. "Wood Elves love their families fiercely, and Legolas verily reveres his Adar."

"Why does this father not cherish that child, then?" demanded Aragorn, arm flung out to point down at Legolas, and the wizard scowled. "You will not answer, so I guess we at least share this displeasure with Thranduil. What is to be done about it? Are there laws among the First-born or the Maiar that would address such callousness?"

"Do not assign meaning to my silences, Aragorn; I do not agree with you. Furthermore, even if there were laws such as you mean, Legolas would not understand them nor appreciate your anger. He was born and raised in the shadow of Dol Guldur. The Wood Elves fight that evil with what weapons they have. Sometimes, to spare life they must sacrifice life. They are not at war over the sovereignty of their lands; they are in a desperate struggle for survival itself. You have never met the Woodland King," said Mithrandir. "When you do, you will see how he cherishes this child." He mimicked the man's action and also pointed down at Legolas.

"I don't need to meet him to know it," scoffed Aragorn. "What I want to know is how to protect Legolas from such 'love'. He is determined to return to Greenwood and fulfil a promise his Naneth wrung from him. She I cannot fault for she must have been mad by then, yet, much as I love him, I can see he would be better off in Mandos."

"No, Mandos is not for him."

"Then we must convince him to sail."

"He would not go. His burden is too heavy, Aragorn, his guilt too pressing. Please do not mention this to him for he will see it as an indication of repudiation and rejection." Mithrandir sighed; it was a delicate matter. There was only so much he could say to Aragorn. In this mood, he doubted the man was ready to hear that Legolas was vital to his future and that of all mankind.

Galadriel had seen Aragorn's reckless chase into the Brown Lands and the death awaiting him there. She had seen Legolas in Dol Guldur. Through the Mirror had come the depth of the bond between them, the importance of that union. Aragorn needed to take up his destiny but feared to do so, feared to fail, and was content to fight the Shadow without revealing himself. Galadriel was certain it was Legolas who would convince him of his worth, make him believe in his destiny, make him strive to achieve what no other could.

"I would never reject him, but one day I will die and what happens then?"

"You do love him." Mithrandir smiled, nodding to himself.

"I cannot deny it, though how it was done I know not. I think he placed some enchantment on me," said Aragorn drily and as expected the wizard laughed.

They were prevented from further discussion for Legolas woke with a start and threw off the blanket, peering wildly about him until he spotted the man. His panic cooled. "Aragorn." Then a gruff cough alerted him to the wizard's presence and he made a hasty grab for the covers.

"I am here, Hervenn." The man watched anguish and adoration chase across the comely features, smiled kindly into blue eyes bright with unshed tears, but Legolas swallowed them down and smiled bravely back. Aragorn took the tea and went to him, knelt next to him and kissed him. "There is Lembas; I would have you eat."

"You could not stop me; I'm starving," Legolas drank the lukewarm fluid in three gulps and deftly caught the leaf-wrapped way bread the wizard tossed. "Mithrandir." He dipped his head in a curt nod and then wolfed down the Lembas. "Have you any news?"

"None you would want to hear," Mithrandir said. "I could find no other kin of yours in Dol Guldur."

"Then Celon'lir is lost, too." He groaned and curled over his knees, buried his head beneath his arms as though to shut everything out.

"Who is Celon'lir?" Aragorn smoothed a steadying hand against the curved back and tugged the thick mane away from the bowed head. He did not want Legolas descending into madness anew and his heart pumped uneasily.

"My nephew, Doronarth's son." Legolas sighed heavily and raised his face, wiped at his eyes. "We arewere close in age and more like brothers than uncle and nephew. He went with me and in the fighting I lost track of him, but I think he was also captured. The Wraiths said he was, but I didn't see him so I hoped he died quickly. Perhaps it is so."

"Either he is dead or awaits you in Greenwood," affirmed Mithrandir. He stood and went to his horse, retrieved a parcel neatly wrapped and tied in a fine elven cloak and brought it to the elf. "From the Lady of Light, clothing befitting a prince of the forest." He resumed his seat on the ground with a rasping grunt. "You should both wash and dress; we've many leagues ahead of us."

"You're coming?" Legolas' voice was sharp.

"I have need to speak with your father," said Mithrandir and lit his pipe, puffed out a huge blue cloud, watched covertly as the elf wrapped himself in the blanket and let the man lead him apart. While they tended one another he mused on the situation, chasing a nagging, irritating, elusive _something_ that just wasn't right. Or should not be right. In order for Aragorn to achieve his destiny, he must have Legolas beside him. Yet, in order for Aragorn to enter fully into that destiny, he must leave the elf behind the very moment the goal was achieved and the crown touched his brow. What of the Wood Elf then? Galadriel had promised to take him over sea, but Gandalf could not shake the feeling that there was a lie behind her words, somewhere.

"Let me do it."

This soft entreaty reached him through his gloomy puzzling and the wizard looked to the man from whose heart the words had flown. He was combing the archer's lengthy mane and both were lost in the experience. There was certainly no lie there; Aragorn adored the elf and Legolas was so immersed in the man's soul he was losing his own identity. Indeed, he had already redefined himself. Aragorn's mate had supplanted the Prince of Greenwood.

"We should go first to Lorien. The Lady may be able to heal your heart," Aragorn murmured.

"You have already done that."

"Truly?" Aragorn kissed the pale white brow, not believing it for a second. "And your spirit?"

"It is linked to yours. Our light is mingled now."

"Then we'll go on to Greenwood."

"Aye, Besnô."

They shared a lingering kiss and Mithrandir let them take their time, busying himself breaking camp, smothering the fire, packing the bedding and cooking gear. When they returned to him, Legolas betrayed no hint of his compromised soul and Aragorn looked lordly and bold. The archer's step was firm and his head high; the new garments fit as though made for him, which they were, and the subdued shades of emerald and ochre showed off his flaxen mane. He presented the perfect image of a sylvan warrior, dangerous yet dignified, and also managed to project that he was much more than the man's friend and companion. They did indeed make a formidable pair and the wizard dared to hope. Isildur's heir was less optimistic, for the sylvan archer had not sung a note since sundown of the previous day.

The trio set out north by west, heading for Greenwood beyond the Long Valley of the Great River.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

  
"I am going to need more arrows," Legolas announced quietly. "Would that the Lady had sent along a bow. This one will hinder my skill and shorten my range considerably. The draw is weak. I prefer power sufficient to skewer an Orc at half the limit of my vision, no less."

They were seated round a small fire in the waning light of the dying day, Aragorn working a stone over his blade, the wizard puffing on his pipe, the Wood Elf trimming the fletching on the bolts the Rohirrim had given him. It had finally been decided that they must cross Limlaith and skirt the fringe of the Golden Wood where the trees nearly dipped their toes in the sluggish flow of the Anduin, though this was within open view of Dol Guldur should anyone be watching. Legolas would not be convinced to detour through the Lady's lands and refused to offer any other reason than his desire to get home quickest. The liquid bounds of the horse-lords' lands had been forded at dusk and an hour's further travel had brought them here.

Aragorn paused in his work and met the elf's troubled gaze, pleased beyond telling to hear his voice, for Legolas had been grim and silent all the day. In spite of the seriousness of the topic, he smiled and received a swift flash of night-shrouded eyes aglitter with gladness. "How limited is the draw of that bow, Hervenn?" That earned him a version of the Wood Elf's glorious smile that was both tender and proud, and the man noticed how Legolas glanced covertly to be sure the wizard heard it, too.

"No more than a quarter of my sight under the sun, less than a fifth under Ithil."

"That bad," grumbled Mithrandir, working hard to maintain an appropriately worried glower. Truthfully, he was as disturbed by the archer's silence as Aragorn, having left behind a barely coherent wreck and receiving a less than comforting diagnosis from the man just this morning past. Any indication of a return to more normal thought and interaction was heartening. "Can't see how more arrows will help, then."

"You have failed to account for speed. None can match my firing speed; so long as there is no Uruk archer, Tuilelindô will carry me into suitable range. I will need more arrows since I'll be within Orc-archer range. Arrows and speed, Mithrandir."

"No, still don't see it, Legolas," the wizard argued. "Even if you use your own bow, shooting at the furthest limit of your range, you only have so many arrows. Once they are gone, they are gone. Whatever Orcs are left will require knife work."

"Ah, but Orcs get a bit put off by seeing their fellows drop dead with arrows in them from an elf they cannot see. Makes them wonder how many elves are waiting. Makes them turn and run." Legolas showed his teeth but it wasn't a very pleasant sort of smile.

"Why didn't you bring him a bow, wizard?" Aragorn was no small amount peeved.

"He had one when I left him, Ranger; what happened to it?"

"Aragorn left it behind in Baran Dalf."

"Oh fine, blame me. The Wraiths were on us; I wasn't thinking about the bow."

"You didn't forget your sword, though," chided Legolas, but he was smiling again.

"Shall I go search for the bow?"

"No!" Legolas set his quiver aside and stretched himself out to grab the man's wrist, pulling to draw him near for a quick kiss with just the faintest touch of tongue behind it. He righted himself and feathered his fingers through his hair, brushing it over his shoulders, and offered Aragorn a decidedly seductive little sidelong smirk. "You are needed here at my side, Besnô."

The man arched a brow and let his gaze travel the long lanky frame with lingering appreciation. Here was the cheeky minx who'd stolen his heart. "All right, then. There should be suitable wood to be had on the borderlands of Lorien."

"Perhaps, but I would not like to take from the trees without asking leave, and we haven't time."

"We have plenty of time," reminded Mithrandir. "You are the only one in a hurry, Legolas."

"I have good cause," Legolas sighed. "Adar was not well when I left and it has been so long already."

"Your father has weathered much grief over his long life. He will not fade," Mithrandir assured, leaning forward to squeeze the archer's knee. His kindly words earned him a faint smile that flickered and died in a sombre sigh.

"He always had Nana, though. He is alone now."

"Nay, he is not alone," argued Aragorn. "It is said in Imladris he has a younger brother still living. Surely this brother has family to surround him with love and support. Also, Doronarth had family. Thranduil will not be lost to you." Indeed, Aragorn believed the King was in much better shape than his son. His bitterness over the circumstances of Legolas' captivity came through, though he meant to hide it, and he found the archer's piercing eyes on him instantly.

"Aye, Elboron lives and many generations of both his and Doronarth's seed, but it isn't the same. Those things I said yestreen, Besnô, you must not take them to heart. I wasI spoke from despair."

"I know, yet I stand by my complaint. Your kin should not have sent you to do this thing."

"Who else?"

"I cannot say; it is a horrible fate for anyone to bear. I understand the need, but can't condone the method."

"Do you know how I was chosen?"

"You said your father sent you, melethen."

"It is a lottery. All male family members of age are eligible, save those nurturing an unborn or new-born child; three are chosen. The three go forth and if the first fails, the second must try. If he is killed, the third must see it done. We do not allow ourselves to contemplate any other outcome. Do you see?"

"That's not what you" Aragorn started, but Legolas went on.

"I'm sure you can understand this is not the first time we have faced such a situation, though we do our best to shield our ladies from such an end. We have banned females from serving in the guard and none are permitted to travel beyond the borders of the realm. Captures have diminished, but only because we have retreated so far northward that even if an elleth is captured, we can usually run down the band of Orcs before they make it into the Black Tower. This is why Ari's plan was so successful; we weren't ready for an ambush of men, particularly men of Rohan, especially so near the open river lands."

"What of a guard for Greenwood's Queen?" Aragorn could not help asking, for he wondered how Thranduil would let her go without such escort if he believed something was amiss. The man set aside his sword and rose, moving so to be closer to his mate. He pulled Legolas' back against his chest and wrapped his arms about him.

"They were there," Legolas sighed and let his head fall back on Aragorn's shoulder, leaned his temple against the man's bearded cheek. "But the Wraith's had planned this attack thoroughly. While the ambush was taking place, the archers guarding my mother were engaged by a full battalion of Orcs and Shadow soldiers, which are men who worship Sauron and serve the Wraiths. Five hundred at least, Doronarth reported. In seconds our people were embroiled in a vicious war and thought they were fighting the main assault, never realising it was a diversion. They were actually fooled into thinking the men in Rohirric garb were coming to their aid, while we now know those were Shadow men in disguise, come to take Greenwood's Queen and thus break at last her indomitable King."

"Aye, it was diabolical in design, for Thranduil would not suspect Rohan of treachery, rightly so, yet why did he let her go if his heart forebode trouble?"

"Nana saw that Bjorn's heart was open and his words were not lies. Thus, she believed this message from Lord Celeborn was sent, but that the messenger had perished somewhere in between, another victim of Shadow. Believing the message, she accepted the validity of the trading mission and would go to see the horses. They were her delight."

"Diabolical indeed," spat Mithrandir. "Yet, I do not believe Thranduil would send you to give her the mercy of death. What of this lottery, then?"

"Aye, you are right. Some said I should be exempt from the lottery since I was so young, my father included. Yet, many of Doronarth's kin said that excluding me had already cost them too much. They meant that trading party, of course. Adar said it was his decision and no fault of mine, so why should I be punished for it. They countered that he sacrificed one son to spare another, and the wrong one at that. Adar went into a rage, saying he would not lose his last son, and named any who would gainsay him treasonous." Legolas paused, a look of anguished bemusement on his face. "Can you picture it, Aragorn? All of us standing there holding this macabre council while my Nana was being beaten and raped by Orcs and Nazgul? How absurd, how obscenely absurd."

"Valar," Aragorn pressed his lips against the weary head and softly stroked the golden hair, met the wizard's eyes with tears in his own.

"I couldn't decide which made me angrier, my father's decision to exclude me or my nephews and nieces blaming me for Doronarth's death. I called them all traitors, for while we talked my mother suffered. I said I was going, lottery or not, and they could talk the day away if they wished. Adar made to stop me and now see us, King and Prince brawling like common beggars, and what was the prize? Who should kill his mate, my mother, and die. Adar is much the stronger ellon and soon had me pinned to the floor, calling for guards to come restrain me. I was so angry that I accused him of cowardice, of excluding himself as well as me. I told him he was afraid to face her because it was his fault she was in that trading party at all."

"No, Legolas," Aragorn whispered. Was there no end to the sorrow in this tale?

"Ai, young one," mourned Mithrandir, shaking his head sadly.

"Then Adar broke down and wept. I have never seen him like that and it was my doing. I didn't know that terrible thought was in his own heart and tried to take back my words, but it was too late. He decreed the lottery null, that he alone would go. Of course none would allow it and it took me, Elboron, Galion, Belinnas, and Noruion to overpower him. He was mad with rage and grief. We locked him in his rooms with Elboron and Galion to stand guard, listening to him and me curse each other through the door. He said a good son, a loving son would not leave his mother to linger in such a hell as Dol Guldur. I agreed and took that as his command for me to see it done."

"Ai, Legolas, he was really pleading with you to let him free, was he not?" asked Mithrandir.

"Perhaps." Legolas shrugged listlessly. "Someone had to go; it couldn't be him, so it was decided. The lottery selected my two companions: Celon'lir and Thórod, who was killed en route." He stirred, raising his head to look into Aragorn's eyes. "So you must not fault my father. His rights as mated husband were reneged and I am the only other elf who might have succeeded, as it turns out. Only because I was her son, and his, did the Wraiths keep me alive and use me for their sport. But for that I would never have got close to her and she would be suffering still."

After this Legolas fell silent and settled back against Aragorn's heart, turning a bit and burying his face under the man's chin, fingertips worming past tunic and shirt to touch upon skin. Mithrandir knew what the elf needed and rose, remarking that he had need to set a weird round their camp as he ambled away. Aragorn waited until he was beyond sight and then took his mate to the blankets and bedded him, and Legolas sang Ithil home to the horizon.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

#### Chapter Twelve: In the Shadow of Many Towers

"How many, Legolas?" Aragorn whispered grimly.

The trio was hunkered low amid the rushes, knee-deep in stagnant water so rank it had to be contaminated with offal from the Black Tower. They peered through a screen of reeds at the deceptively unremarkable landscape across the river. It was eerily serene; there were water fowl sedately paddling about just upstream and an egret poised in the shallows on its stilted legs. A fish jumped where the channel was deeper. They might have been on the banks of the Brandywine gazing upon the Old Forest but for the stink.

 _And that glimpse of evil riding aloft the canopy._

Just visible to the man's sight, the stark, slick black pinnacle of Dol Guldur pierced the dense cover of the treetops, the watchtower's design surprisingly elegant with great vaulted arches opening on each of its six faceted faces. An immense sculpture of a dragon perched upon the roof, its clawed talons gripping the stonework, its spiny tail wrapped round the tower, so long it was said to reach halfway down and provided an external stairway to reach the uppermost platform. Its fearsome head was crowned with a fan of bony plates and its gaping maw grinned with sabre-shaped teeth, the gargoyle so life-like its slitted eyes seemed to follow one's movements even from so great a distance. Aragorn shivered; he did not want to stay within sight of those lifeless orbs long.

He assumed there must be a great host arrayed about the Tower, though he could not detect any movement. Aragorn couldn't begin to guess what his mate could see and actually hoped it was only an army of Orcs and not the Nazgûl. They had not encountered any resistance thus far and while he hoped to keep it that way, experience warned they would not make it to Greenwood without conflict. The closer they came to the Gladden crossing, the more likely an attack became. The Wood Elf had been nervous and edgy all night and now he was still as a statue, staring across the expanse of marshy fens at the wall of trees on the opposite shore.

Legolas had not spoken, nor indeed blinked, staring as though mesmerised. It was unsettling.  
The man glanced to Gandalf only to find him doing exactly the same thing. He set a frantic hand on the elf's shoulder and tugged a bit. Legolas startled and gave a minimal nod when the man motioned silently for retreat. Cautiously the three travellers made their way to firmer ground, Aragorn assessing his mate and wondering if he could bear up under the strain of such proximity to the place of his imprisonment.

In truth, the passing days had proved his initial fears baseless. Legolas had not repeated his display of tormented guilt and madness, instead growing more confident and independent, more like the brash, proud Wood Elf with whom he'd journeyed in Rohan. Yet the man was wise and understood that swaggering, daring persona was mostly bluster, a shield to protect the archer's wounded soul from exposure. Aragorn watched him now, noting tension in his body, a subtle projection of strain, every sense alert, every nerve attuned to their surroundings.

 _Is this the response of a person bedevilled and browbeaten, or of someone justifiably cautious?_

He was inclined to the latter view, accustomed to the innate wariness of the First Born. Indeed, it required no special gifts to comprehend the dangers inherent to being within sight of one's mortal enemy. Aragorn felt it, too, and wanted nothing more than to put the Tower behind them. Legolas, he decided, was showing remarkable self-control. He wondered how many elves could face so severe a threat with such graceful restraint and calm self-discipline. The names his mind supplied were all great heroes among the First Born: Gil-Galad, Glorfindel, Elrond, Fingon. His spirit swelled with pride to recognise the strength of his young mate's character and broke free in a smile of bright, soft eyes.

Legolas felt it, a sudden burst of warmth burgeoning within his heart, light dawning as clear as the sun, and spontaneously he made a running leap at his mate's back, arms and legs wrapped round him tight. Aragorn had to grab the calves of those strong legs as he pretended to stagger and groan under the elf's feather-light weight. "I love you," Legolas whispered ere he jumped down and paced beside the man, content as he could never recall being in all his life, and wondered that this could be so, here in the shadow of so evil a place.

The thought sobered him and a crawling sensation filled his belly. In spite of himself Legolas turned and peered at the pinnacle of the Tower, into the black dragon's eye. Malignant dread bloomed in his soul and instantly he looked away, but his very bones ached with the depth of the malice he'd felt. An encompassing need to hide the man swept through him, an urgent instinct to prevent the Wraiths from seeing him. Panic pricked at the frayed fabric of his feä. His heart turned to stone, overcome with certainty the Nazgûl knew they were here and merely waited until it suited them to swoop down and destroy this one last pure thing the archer still possessed: his love for Aragorn.

"No!" the elf hissed low, a single syllable crammed with abyssal hatred and absolute defiance. Terror seized him and cold sweat broke over his flesh.

"Melethen?"

"We need to get from here, now." He grabbed Aragorn's arm, hustled him toward the horses. "They know we're here; they'll kill you." He pulled against the man's resisting weight. "Hurry!"

"Legolas, be calm," Mithrandir joined the couple and pressed the palm of his hand against the ellon's racing heart. Of course the wizard had felt it, that putrid, garish beam of hatred that pinpointed the elf. A shaft of unadulterated evil that shot through the slender frame as surely as an arrow. He searched the panicked blue eyes deeply. "Be calm," he repeated. "They are not here; Estel is not in graver danger than any good man would be travelling past that Tower."

"No, I can't risk it. Don't you see? Now that he is with me, Kalrô is endangered. Because I escaped, because I thwarted their plans, they want to punish me." He shoved the wizard's hand off him and turned to Aragorn. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to put you in their path. Please, we need to leave here, go back to Lorien. You'll be safe there." In his mind he saw the man captive in the Tower, tortured as he had been, brutalised by the Wraiths' slaves, himself one of them. "No! I will not!" he shouted and suddenly turned aside and staggered, violently ill, doubled over and vomiting into the grass.

"Elbereth! What has happened?" The man was alarmed at the drastic shift in Legolas' state and supported the elf through the sickness, helping him stand when it was done and then giving him a leg up onto Tuilelindô. "Mithrandir, hurry," he urged the wizard, mounting Azrûbel and turning back to Legolas. "All right, Meleth?"

"Yes, fine," Legolas lied, wiping his mouth over his sleeve, eyes stricken and pleading. "Let's go."

"Wait," insisted Mithrandir. "We cannot backtrack to Lorien. Estel, tell him."

"Tell him what? It is what I have counselled from the beginning."

"Please, quickly, we are vulnerable here," warned Legolas. He reached for Azrûbel's bridle but the wizard stopped him.

"Legolas, we are not under attack. Look around you, pen neth. Estel's freedom is not in jeopardy. Listen to me now; he must journey to Eriador, not Lorien. He would have passed here whether he ever met you or not." He turned to Aragorn. "Tell him!" he growled testily.

At last the man grasped an inkling of what was in his mate's thoughts. "That is true, Melethen. For my peril you can accept no blame. Having chosen to venture from Gondor on this path, I must come past this place to reach home." He reached over and set his hand on the elf's pale cheek. It was irrelevant now to explain he had originally planned to stop in Lorien; the Golden Wood was behind them and his reason for going there no longer pertinent. "There are no Orcs here, Legolas. We are across the river from them and many leagues separate us. I agree we should leave, but we cannot race haphazard across the valley. Caution is needed more than haste if we are to make it safely beyond this point. Greenwood first and after that Eriador, yes? We cannot go back only to turn round and face it all anew."

Legolas was quiet then, staring at his mate and hearing the truth in his voice, but it gave him little comfort to know Aragorn was as likely to be a target of his enemies as he. Now that the horrible vision was fading, he saw this clearly. Of course Aragorn would be hunted; he was Isildur's heir; his father had been killed by Shadow and now the archer believed he knew the reason those Uruks had come to Rhovanion. They were sent to destroy this man who meant so much to him, but so much to the future of all free men, too. Legolas sighed, covered the hand with his own, comforted by the roughly calloused palm, regretted when Aragorn finally removed it.

"No Orcs here, no Wraiths," he said, gazing about, and felt foolish, mortified to have shown such cowardice when there was no threat to fear. He dropped his eyes to the mare's withers. "What you must think." He shook his head. "I don't know what happened; it seemed they werethat we were already in the dungeons. I'm sorry; I"

"No need for apologies," interrupted the wizard kindly. He had mounted his grey palfrey and steered the horse to Legolas' side. "It is perfectly natural to want to protect your mate. Estel tried to convince you to go to Lothlorien for days, did he not?" He chuckled as man and elf exchanged sheepish smiles. "We do need to move on, but let us choose our way carefully."

"Can we slip past without being seen?" Aragorn asked his mate. "Or is there a watcher peering down on us right now?"

"There is always a Wraith up in the Tower." Legolas shivered, an involuntary ripple rattling down his spine. "They have no sight such as you and I possess, but can feel darkness and perceive shifting patterns within it. Any absence of Shadow, this they can sense and that is the kind of eyes I felt upon us."

"Legolas, your words are not heartening," complained Mithrandir, "but it is no less than I expected."

Legolas shuddered again. "I want to be away from here long before annûn. Today we cannot spare the horses."

"So be it," nodded Aragorn. "Wait here; I'll scout ahead."

"No, Legolas will go," commanded Mithrandir. "He's better at it than either of us," he explained before Aragorn could voice the retort foretold by his indignant and defiant expression.

The man could not deny Mithrandir's assessment, but in light of the elf's abrupt loss of composure he was unwilling to let him out of his sight. He glanced at Legolas and then away, feeling guilty for having to allude to the archer's weakness, and confronted the wizard. "Perhaps we should remain together. A united front is less likely to be"

"I can do it," snapped Legolas. "I am not enthralled, Kalrô. I would never betray you, never!"

"No more would I think it," insisted Aragorn, surprised. "I was worried but not about your loyalty. Beloved, if they come after you while you're alone"

"Let them," Legolas said coldly. "That way no one else is endangered. I will send them to the Void where they belong. Isildur showed us how, did he not? Just like their vile Master, cut off their rings and they have no power." He drew the long knife and pointed it toward the eastern shore, sighting down the mithril blade, eager to prove to the man and the Maia that he was a worthy companion in arms.

"Never speak these words! Not even in jest, Legolas," Aragorn rebuked him, so upset he reached out and snatched the knife away. "Promise you will not challenge them, not for any reason."

"Give it back." Legolas tried to grab it but Tuilelindô, agitated by his fey mood, wheeled the other way.

"Your word first."

"It was Nana's; return it to me, Kalrô."

"Your solemn promise, Hervenn." Aragorn had suspected whose knife it was, but held his ground and as he'd hoped, Legolas responded to this title of endearment. Every hint of wrath fled from his eyes and the blue irises turned a vivid indigo. The promise already shone within them and Aragorn held forth the hilt even as Legolas opened his lips to speak.

"Aye, Besnô, given," he said softly, accepting the knife and sheathing it. Then he smiled and before anymore words could be traded he clicked his tongue and Tuilelindô bounded away.

Aragorn could only watch, his throat aching with the strain to keep from calling him back. He could see now the many times he would send Legolas into danger alone, if they were both still alive at the end of this adventure. He sighed; it had never occurred to him that he would face such a prospect, his mate by his side through every hardship and menace he met, and could not deny it went against his instincts to allow it.

"He's doing quite well," said Mithrandir blandly, eyeing the man.

"Really?" The man stared, incredulous. "I had thought so until now. In fact, I was convinced he had mastered his sorrow." He recalled his optimistic comparison to the mighty warriors of old only minutes ago and shook his head. How could he have been so unrealistic?

"Too soon for that; we'll know his real status better after Greenwood." Mithrandir did not add that there was yet the possibility that Legolas would not survive what transpired there. "What happened just now was my fault; I should never have let him come so near Dol Guldur. I was lulled into complacency by his apparent strength, which I see now is mostly drawn from you. I'm not sure he's ready for what comes next."

"That is somewhat less than encouraging. You assured me love could cure him."

"And said it would be a difficult cure," chided the wizard.

"But what happened back there?" Aragorn had to know, remembering those accounts of elves who escaped the shackles of Angband only to be forever bound in terror to Morgoth, unwitting collaborators and instigators of evil among their own people.

"For lack of a better way to explain it, Darkness touched him."

"Ai Valar," moaned Aragorn, and found he had to fight a surge of sickness. "Nay, Mithrandir, it cannot be! Did you not assure me you had purged him of Shadow?"

"Take heart, Estel! He resisted, could you not see this? His only thought was to get you to safety. He is not enthralled," assured the Maia. "And see to it you do not give him cause to think you doubt him. I once saw Glorfindel cringe at the shriek of the Nazgûl, but he drove the Witch King from Carn Dûm all the same."

"I won't," promised the man. Then he grimaced and shook his head, convinced he could have prevented this episode somehow. "What can I do to help him?"

"What you are doing is sufficient. Don't discount your effect on him; you've restored his honour and his esteem if not his innocence."

"Would that this was behind us. I want to take him to Imladris for a time, give him peace and respite there."

"That will do him good," Mithrandir nodded, but didn't believe the couple would go so soon to Rivendell. Duty demanded Aragorn's presence at Fornost, and Legolas would surely follow no matter his mate's objections. _And how will this union be received among the Rangers, I wonder?_ Here was one of the many incongruities in Galadriel's reading of the Mirror's reed. Men were not given to tolerance where such matters were considered. _Yet, were Legolas female, the Rangers would still not want their chief's mate among them, judging so deep a connection would overshadow all other concerns._

In this they would be proved wrong. Mithrandir was impressed by Aragorn's ability to restrain his heart and conform his decisions to those demanded of a man who would lead others. At the same time, he was neither reserved nor smothering in his interaction with the archer, maintaining a delicate balance of mutual support and independence. He seemed to know exactly what Legolas needed, how much comfort, when to give it, when to encourage the elf to be strong and bold, when his heart was sore beyond bearing. Even if most of this self-assurance was pure bluff, Aragorn was managing the care of Legolas' broken soul with both remarkable skill and tender compassion.

"What did the Mirror show of our future?" Aragorn suddenly asked. He was thinking about the wizard's prediction that love could heal Legolas, wanting to believe it was possible, hoping for a proof he could believe.

"Not much I could understand," Mithrandir shrugged. "No details, just a series of images, an impression of time passing, years, of love shared, battles fought in many places, many times, hurts tended, a celebration in a great hall of men somewhere, things of that nature."

"And he was beside me through all this?"

"Yes, Estel, and do not even ask the next question. I did not see your death or his."

To this Aragorn grunted morosely. Legolas returned, suddenly materialising in the distance, striding toward them with his long, loose gait over the open fields, Tuilelindô by his side, a look of wonder on his face. The man was again struck by the shift in temperament. It was hard to reconcile the image approaching him with the frantic ellon of minutes ago. Aragorn tried to remember if Legolas had always been this way and found it difficult to bring up impressions of the elf prior to the breakdown. Even so, he was nearly convinced the Wood Elf had been rather volatile even before then. He decided this was comforting in an odd sort of way and smiled, pleased beyond telling to have him back, safe and sound.

"Your expression tells me you encountered nothing evil."

"Nay, just the opposite. I have seen a thing," he began and faltered, unsure of his words. "A herd of horses running over the land, sweeping near to the Gladden fields where the Tower looks down and back up toward the foothills. I did not know there were such herds apart from those in Rohan, and they had the look of those horses, too. They were not running from fear or from a predator. I would swear they were behaving like a patrol, guarding the land, looking for enemies. I called to them, but they paid no heed. Were they shape-shifters, Mithrandir?"

"Nay, I doubt that," chuckled the Maia, eyes twinkling at the elf's child-like amazement. "Most likely, those were Beorn's horses acting on his instructions, repelling incursions of Orcs into their realm. The animals of the shape-shifters are not like others and do patrol this area. The Beornings do not abide the creatures of Shadow to roam their lands at will."

"That is good news," Aragorn beamed and clapped the elf on the arm. "Now we can proceed with greater confidence. Between your eyes and the unusual soldiers of the Beornings, I doubt any Orcs could remain hidden."

They set forth anew, Legolas still insistent on speed as much as stealth, and put the Tower behind them without further incident. As sundown neared, he led them to a deep bowl in the land with a screen of oaks on one side, situated near to the river, and there they camped the night. As had become his custom, the archer stood watch, insisting he felt no weariness and could not rest while they were still so close to Dol Guldur. Man and Maia grumbled and complained into their bedrolls, Aragorn settling at his young mate's feet. Few opportunities for intimacy were available to them with Mithrandir along, but they managed to pack every touch with an intensity of emotion and that essential light Legolas craved.

They gazed long upon one another, eyes warm with love and contentment, speaking of their relief for one another's safety silently, vowing to protect each other the same way. Legolas slipped off his boots and stood barefoot, wriggling his toes amid the cool grass, and the man's fingers loosely clasped him at the ankle. He could feel anxiety in his mate's feä and moved quickly to prevent the elf from voicing any self-derogation, guessing correctly that Legolas was revisiting his lapse into irrational dread.

"I must thank you, Hervenn," Aragorn murmured.

"For what?"

"For saving my life so often, for wanting to safeguard me from even the idea of harm. You have been doing this even before I knew you existed, yet I have not thanked you even once, not properly. My mother would box my ears."

"Would she?" Legolas laughed softly and ran his toes lovingly over the blanket bound form. "I would not let her; you've thanked me, Besnô, abundantly so."

"I would thank you more thoroughly but for our companion."

"No matter; we will have many years to express our mutual gratitude." He worked his foot under the blanket and nudged the man's chest.

Aragorn took hold and drew the slender appendage forward, kissed the elegant arch and then pillowed his cheek thereon. He fell asleep that way and Legolas felt a sweet and gentle ache build within his heart, wishing his mother could know of this unlooked for joy he had found.

"She would love you, not just for love of me, but because you and I are right together, though never could I have guessed such would be true," he whispered. "Her name was Ranak'lâ (Moon Light) and she would love you, but also she would hate you, for love of me and the pain losing you will cause."

Aragorn was sleeping and did not hear him, but that was as the archer intended. So Legolas sighed, resolved to enjoy this as though it was their last peaceful night, instinct foreboding they would see battle before long. He tipped his head, smiling, as his ear caught the faint ruffle of wings being aired and settled back in place. He heard the subtle scratchy clawing of tiny talons gripping a tall stalk of swaying wheat and beamed as the first notes of the night singer rang through the dense air. He following the song into reverie, back through the unfolding years of his childhood.

 _There reclined the woodland Queen, sprawled in a clearing, a meadow bathed in moonlight where stars looked down for a peek at life beneath the obscuring net of Greenwood's gnarled branches. There she lounged in the simple luxury of wild flowers and fragrant moss, propped atop an elbow, chin resting on that palm, long dark hair drifting when the wind lifted it, her silken skirts grass stained and frayed at the hem a bit, her slender bare feet just visible beneath the fabric. Beside her sat an elf child just six summers old, all eyes and compressed energy, yet quiescent beside her, attention fixed and focused upon her face._

 _'Hear now a Master Singer, iondo nduena, (second son) my favourite among all the birds, the one for whom our revered ancestor and the founder of our people was named. You think you are Kithwa Kwende (Grey Elf) like your Atu (father), Thranduil, so tall and strong?'_

 _'Yes, Nana. Is it not so?'_

 _'No, khînâ taurê (forest child) it is not so, for half of what you are comes through me, and that half is the half that will shape your whole. Onrônê kâra kwende. (The mother makes the person.) You are of Nôrê Domilindê (Nightingale Clan) like me.'_

 _'But I don't have a Nightingale name.'_

 _'The name you have is your father name. It is a tradition among the Kithwa Kwendi (Grey Elves); I did not mind to let him name you, since I gave you everything important, and at least he chose a name in the ancient tongue.' But her voice complained despite this disclaimer and her son heard it._

 _'Is that why you do not ever call me that name?'_

 _'Oh! Such discerning ears my child possesses!' She laughed, the sound very like the song of the night singers so that the child laughed, too, though it was a serious talk they were having. 'Nay,' she went on. 'I do not speak that name because I do not want our enemies to learn it. The Shadow slaves do not know about you at all, tawarô, (wood sprite) and I pray they never will.'_

 _'I will grow to be a warrior like my father and brother and then the Shadow slaves will learn of me, and they will fear me,' answered the child._

 _'Yes. You will wield the bow and the long knife, but never the broadsword. You will run through the trees as silently as a bird in flight, and sing to the stars at night. You will be the greatest of our people and your light will shine so brightly even those far beyond our trees will see it and rejoice. Now, khînâ taurê, (forest child) listen and learn Domilindê's Song, but know this: the song's beauty is also a ruse, for the singers are announcing their territorial bounds and inviting all challengers to make a counter claim, if they dare._

 _'We are like that: proud, bold, defiant. When the Kithwa Kwendi came over the mountains and across the great valley, Nôrê Domilindê greeted them at the borders and there was kwetta okta, war of words. We did not want them in our woods, but Kithwa Kwendi were ready to meet our bold song and sang their own right back at us, a song of tears and strife and great sorrow, of elves killing elves for a jewel. Yet there was also hope within this woeful dirge, a longing for a simpler life free of intrigues and greed for power, free of Noldorin Princes and the curses they brought._

 _'My Atu, who was Taurê Târo, (Great Wood King) listened. He heard truth and honour in Turô Oropher's (Lord Oropher) speech. He looked and saw that Oropher brought warriors with long swords and mighty bows, even armour and horses. Here were folk whose strength would serve us well in our struggle against the Servants of Darkness. My Atu also saw that Oropher had only sons and no daughters, while Atu had only daughters and no sons. These sons and daughters became husbands and wives. Our families were joined in this way and so our people became one people. Do you see?'_

 _'Yes. Onrônê kâra kwende. I am Taurê Kwende of Nôrê Domilindê. (Wood Elf of the Nightingale Clan) But how did my Atu become Taurê Târo?'_

 _'That is a story for another night, khînâ ndakô (warrior child).'_

  
When Aragorn rose to take over the watch, he found Legolas in reverie, that elvish state of removed but alert consciousness he always found so intriguing, even more so this night. The Wood Elf was standing motionless on one leg, the other bent at the knee, its foot propped atop its counterpart's calf, stork fashion, his bow planted before him, both hands wrapped round it, head bent in a listening pose. The man smiled to see this stance, wondering if this was typical for sylvans, and he took his place beside his mate, hearing the nightingales singing. He did not want to disturb the elf's rest and did not need to, for he knew Legolas was aware of his presence. In truth, Aragorn was glad to know Legolas could enter this normal phase of subdued awareness. He had worried the archer would see only memories of his torment if he subsided into dreams.

Aragorn inhaled a deep breath of contentment, for though no words passed between them he felt the distinctive warmth of his beloved's faerlim surround him, joy and amusement infused in the invisible radiance. He wished he could share this dream that gave his mate such happiness, and immediately felt Legolas' hand grip his. Just then, far away in the distance, Aragorn caught the sound of childish laughter drifting amid the notes of the night singer's song.

  
Dense fog clung just above the ground, sticking to the scraggly grass and weeds like ephemeral moss, thick, white, and cottony; Legolas had to wonder how it was that clouds, usually confined to the highest reaches of Súlimo's realm, could be brought low like this and made to serve so base a master. He had seen mist in the morning many times, but never like this. Even his piercing blue eyes could not penetrate the strangely opaque and motionless air, the haze insubstantial to touch, though cold and damp, and murky enough to obscure his sight less than an arm's reach away.

Blobby shapes in ashen shades loomed and then retreated: a herd of deer moving through the meadow. Rolling balls of shimmery fluff parted to expose an unexpected bush. Swirling white curtains writhed away in a ragged, clapping cloud: a covey of quail bursting out of the grass at their very feet.

The valley was both gloomy and bright at the same time as though Anor was high in the sky but too many clouds had fallen between her face and the earth to permit her glory to shine through. It was not the same as being under the canopy of the trees, even, for there nothing filled the space between the bolls and it was only a matter of adapting to lower levels of illumination. Here, though the way was open before them for leagues ahead, Legolas trod carefully, delicately, and strained to see the way.

 _If there were to be an attack by day, this would be the day._

It was not a comforting thought and he gripped the bow tighter, hearing the sound of his skin drawing taut against the leather wrapping. Everything was louder and yet each noise receded from him, muffled and hollow, bouncing on the unusually thick atmosphere so that it was difficult to tell from what direction it originated, or what had caused it. A dull thud and abrupt, urgent shuffling preceded a hissed expletive and Legolas smiled, reaching out automatically to steady Aragorn trudging through the mist beside him. At least there was no mistaking that sound or the man's whereabouts, though Mithrandir, true to his name, had virtually vanished in his grey robes with his grey beard, his grey hat, and his pale, pearl-coloured horse.

Rohan was far behind while Lorien's borders had slipped into obscurity and Dol Guldur was four days back, though he still felt its presence like a lingering blight upon his heart. Four days with only a brief sighting of Orcs, one small band tramping hastily away through a starlit morning dusk. To what havens they were hurrying he could not guess for there were few trees in the valley to shield them come dawn. For the first time in his life, Legolas decided to shy from trees. They were nearly to the Gladden crossing, still so far from his father's halls, a journey of long leagues under the lengthening Shadow.

So many towers, he thought, a prodigious line of them stretching from here to Mordor: Dol Guldur, Orthanc, Minas Morgul, Cirith Ungol, Barad Dur. All of them menacing, ominous, evil; all of them somehow combining their heights, stretching their shadowy reach, extending the limits of their scope until it seemed the Dark Lord glowered down directly on Anduin and Greenwood. If one on either end could be toppled, then his home would have peace, but the Wood Elves had failed to deter the Necromancer, and though he was gone, his lieutenants remained to carry on his reign of terror. Now, the sylvans could not even chase off a trio of Shadow slaves.

They had tried to budge the Lord of Barad Dur and failed at that, too, even with all the free peoples to aid them in the task. A bold stroke, a stroke of luck by a broken sword in the hand of a desperate man, that had defeated Sauron and even so his towers remained, all of them, filled with wickedness and cruelty. From them an insidious infection spread through Arda, corrupting and perverting everything it encountered, a diseased lust for power creeping into the minds and marrow of men and lesser beings. What hope could there be to ever know peace while these towers stood?

 _The Wood Elves have dwindled and diminished like all the First Born. It is this Shadow! It poisons everything it touches. Soon, there will not be enough light to sustain us and we must leave our forest forever._

 _These were not his words, but he could not deny their truth anymore than he could recall who had told him this. Mithrandir, perhaps. He felt helpless and vulnerable and it rankled. He was both eager for battle and dreaded it, needing to prove himself after the incident at the Tower but fearing what would happen once confronted by those black, empty cloaks so full with hatred. Legolas forced his thoughts to reject this doubt, but the idea was already there, pricking at his brain like a sliver of wood pushed under the skin. Was he forever marked by the evil that had possessed him and used him so totally? Would the darkness grow in him anew and devour his soul?_

 _ _No! I killed servants of Mordor; I saved the life of a mighty captain among men. Creatures of Shadow do not do these things.__

They were Aragorn's words and he clung to them tenaciously. The man believed in him, trusted him, kept him at his side even knowing the worst of his crimes. Legolas inhaled a slow, steadying breath, exhaling a silent prayer of thanks for whatever had placed him in the path of the Ranger, be it Vairë's fate, Manwë's grace, or Mithrandir's scheming. With Aragorn at his side, he could face anything and not fail. Again he wished for an end to the suspense. He had no wish for Aragorn to be endangered, nor the wizard either, but since they must fight he would rather it be on his terms, when he had the advantage.

 _Three Wraiths against three heroes and one of those a wizard. Perhaps we can do it._

Yet, he had already been tested against the Nazgûl and knew the truth: his only advantage lay in a superior gift for sneaking and hiding. That was what had got them this far. He took another woebegone breath; the waiting was unbearable. He was moved to sing and ease his conflicted mind, but repressed the need. Mithrandir had cautioned him against it, saying the sound of an elvish voice here in the open meadows could spell their doom. He wanted to ask if there was any way to make this fog clear, but while the wizard was unseen, his presence was strongly felt as a bristly impatience just ahead and the archer was reluctant to disturb him.

 _Perhaps it is just the mist dulling my senses that prompts this foreboding._

High above, Arien crept along her daily trek but the cloying vapour remained. A muted splash told Legolas the distance to the river and he wondered if the others heard it, too. Another league passed beneath their feet as the silent march went on, each isolated in his own thoughts, and with every step tension built within his heart. Abruptly Legolas halted, snatching Aragorn's arm to stop him and calling out to the wizard.

"What is it?" the man asked anxiously. "Did you hear something?"

"Nothing specific, but I'm going to run ahead for a time. Stop here until my return," he said and jogged off, vanishing before he'd gone two strides.

"Wait!" hissed Aragorn, making a grab for the headstrong Wood Elf that was several seconds too slow. It was the wizard who replied.

"I am sorely tempted to disperse this murky cloud of"

Mithrandir's comment ended abruptly when they heard Legolas give a surprised cry, the distinct sound of his bow following as he fired into the fog again and again. There was no time to ask what was happening nor any need; the wizard set loose his horse and drew sword. Beside him, the man did the same and the chargers bolted beyond range. Now, they could but pray Legolas' skill would aid them and in seconds they could not even do that as the lumbering forms of Orcs appeared leering out of the mist, popping up like marmots from their burrows.

They battled in a blurry sea of grey and white shadow, of frantic cries and the clash of sword against sabre. Aragorn sought for his mate but there were too many foes and he could not afford to accommodate his fears. He and Gandalf fought back to back, desperate to keep from being overwhelmed. He tried to count their assailants; got a rough estimate of more than ten then gave up as he hewed through the bony breastplate of a tall, misshapen creature. It toppled and another took its place. Aragorn roared as its blade crossed his and locked. He feinted back and left, under the fused weapons, felt the beast falter, shoved it away in a screech of metal and cut it down, a deep laceration through the back that severed the spine.

They were all Orcs, no Uruks, no wargs, and this was about the only good he could conjure. He heard the wizard call out in pain and hiss an ugly curse. He wished Legolas would curse so he would know where the elf was, but the sylvan fought in silence. It had to be that; had to be. The only other reason for the absence of his voice was not a thing Aragorn could entertain. Two blades came at the man at once and he had to choose, unable to duck low without exposing Mithrandir to injury.

He parried the one on the left with his dagger, danced a side-stepping bluff, and gained enough advantage to hack off the second one's sword arm midway between wrist and elbow. The creature's lurching body crashed against him and he nearly went down, managed to stab it through the neck and shove it back. A black sabre whistled by his nose close enough for him to catch a whiff of ichor on it; he jerked his head back and slashed at the face dominating his field of view, removed most of its right eye. Because he was merciful, the man jabbed his dirk through the other eye, deep into the brain, already focused on the next black shape coming at him. In mid-stride it staggered, bellowing, and collapsed in groaning agony. Another leaped over it and charged, eyes wild and filled with hate, but a subtle flash of silvery light attacked it. The beast was felled before it could get within striking range, the expression on its face one of shock, a fountain of black blood spurting from its neck.

 _Legolas!_

Joy burst through the man's heart and poured strength into his arms. The assault was thinning and now as he fought Aragorn saw numerous quick, bright bursts winking in the boiling vapour. It had to be Legolas, but he did not dare call out lest he distract the archer. Another Orc charged and he engaged it, catching it on his blade where a deep nick was gouged into its sabre. With a twisting thrust he pulled the sword out of the clawed hands and then spun, severing the head from the torso as he came round. He heard the wizard's sword bite through leather armour into flesh, heard the grunt of effort as the Maia shoved the corpse off his blade. Aragorn duelled briefly with a last opponent and dispatched it, then stood panting, sword ready, watching the silver streaks darting through the thick air like a needle darning cloth, stab-stab-stabbing through the mist. There was rough scuffling of booted feet, a garbled cruse in Black Speech fraught with terror, and he realised the enemy was retreating.

"Are you hurt, Aragorn?" Mithrandir asked between wheezing breaths, forgetting in his anguish that he had forbidden the use of the man's true name until they were safe in Thranduil's halls.

"Nay, but you are," answered the man. He turned to tend the Maia's wound but before he could start a sudden gust of air sent the white vapour dancing. For an instant Legolas appeared out of the fog, running, but he was racing away over the plains. "Legolas! Wait!"

"I must catch the last two before they spread news of our whereabouts and bring reinforcements," the elf cried, his words dwindling as he sped off. Then there was another vibrant glitter of lightening through the haze, a harsh expletive in an Orcish voice, and only one foe left.

"Nay, stubborn sylvan, come back! We need to stay together!" Aragorn called after him in vain.

"Leave him to it," commanded Mithrandir testily. "I've greater need just now than he."

"I cannot let him run off alone. What if he stumbles on another trap like this?" The man whistled for Azrûbel.

"Then hurry and we'll follow," snapped the wizard.

Aragorn nodded, uneasy for his mate, as he examined the injury. There was a chunk of muscle sliced off the wizard's forearm and it had bled profusely, but was not life-threatening. As he worked to bandage the Maia, he berated himself silently, deciding he should have taken a firmer hand with the headstrong archer from the beginning. _All this over-blown sylvan pride._ He resolved to mentor Legolas with more consistent authority henceforth.

Legolas wanted to prove himself, needed to do so, and the man realised why. His desire for revenge was understandable, but the archer was reckless, driven by rage and perhaps even madness. If someone did not teach him restraint, he would be killed in battle before he reached his hundredth summer. That thought made Aragorn speed through the treatment and he verily shoved Mithrandir up into the saddle before mounting Azrûbel.

"He should have returned by now," the man worried. "Can you ride?"

"Strange thing to ask me now that I'm already seated," complained the wizard. "Go! I am right behind you." He watched Aragorn kick his horse into a gallop and smiled. The bond was strong and growing stronger daily. _A formidable pair, indeed._ He urged his horse into a casual canter.

The land rose as a series of rolling hillocks pimpled the deep valley, a cluster of softly rounded humps that stretched from the bottom lands to the interior, becoming steeper as Hithaeglir neared, but here the hummocky land was only high enough to create a natural boundary that contained the loosely defined delta of the Gladden river. It was also the limit of the fog and as his horse climbed higher the mist thinned and then abruptly vanished. Mithrandir paused at the top of the hill and looked down over a field of carnage that made him catch his breath, and there on the far fringe of it, Legolas and Tuilelindô chasing down the last of the foes.

He could see Azrûbel racing toward the mare, weaving and leaping over the dark slumped bodies strewn over the earth. He heard Aragorn's shout, muted, unintelligible, and urgent. The Wood Elf had indeed run afoul of another ambush, but it was the Orcs who had been taken by surprise. As the wizard watched, the elf leaned out with his long knife and beheaded one of the fleeing Orcs, a crisp, blinding stab of light preceding the stroke, like a stolen beam of sunlight. Mithrandir's brows rose, the cutting brilliance was the very antithesis to the black lance of darkness with which Legolas' had been touched just days gone by.

The last Orc turned and made a stand and Legolas leaped from the mare, fought it blade to blade, and such was his speed and the strength of his anger that the creature was dead before Aragorn could reach them. Legolas raised his knife above his head and gave a shout, a long echoing cry of both triumph and challenge. He leaped aboard Tuilelindô and guided her back to his companions. Mithrandir hastened to join them, arriving at Aragorn's side even as Legolas came trotting up. The Wood Elf was all fire and fury and victorious glory, fell and fey, spattered everywhere with black blood, eyes shining and head high. He smiled at them as he drew rein beside Aragorn.

"Got them all. Hiding in pits," he snorted. "I was able to shoot most of them before they could get out. Stupid things! I killed their archers first, then took the arrows and felled the rest with their own bolts."

"You are not hurt?" asked Aragorn, reluctant to say too much. He had never actually seen Legolas in battle before now and it was stunning. He'd come over the rise to find the elf sweeping back and forth round the pits, firing off arrows quicker than he would have believed possible. This explained how he'd been saved in Baran Dalf. The man counted twenty Orcs between here and the fog-bound fields behind them, killed literally as fast as the elf could arm his bow.

"Nay, nor is Tuilelindô. They are so slow in daylight. I think it blinds them or burns them, or both perhaps. But for those Wraiths, we could clear these misshapen monsters from our woods for good."

"I do not doubt you," nodded Mithrandir, and he didn't.

"Nor I," averred Aragorn. "Is this how all Wood Elves fight?"

Modesty prevented Legolas from admitting it and he just shrugged, grinning. "Did you see how I caught the last one before it could raise the alarm?"

"I did," said the man, smiling faintly, and shared a look with the wizard, glad to see he was not the only one being enlightened this day. Mithrandir could no longer question Legolas' ability to overcome the limitations of an inferior bow with speed, accuracy, and sheer, tenacious hatred for the accursed Orcs. "I already feel guilty for taking you away from Greenwood."

A soft golden glow filled Legolas' aura even as a rosy flush stained his cheeks, and if anything he sat even taller, trying hard to behave with insouciance as he carefully wiped the gore from the elegant knife and sheathed it. "I thank you," he murmured softly. "I felt honour bound to clear our path after my carelessness earlier."

"What carelessness?" asked Aragorn, no idea what the elf was talking about.

"In the fog." The elated gleam left Legolas' eyes. "I am sorry, Kalrô; I should have detected the trap sooner. I will not fail again."

"Nonsense, you could not know any more than we," objected Mithrandir. "Even I have not heard of Orcs using such a tactic before."

"Nay, Mithrandir," the elf said seriously. "I was careless."

"That isn't so," Aragorn disagreed. "I did not think they would plan out so elaborate a scheme, either. Your skill spared us and only Mithrandir took injury, a flesh wound, nothing more." Yet now that the initial amazement had passed, Aragorn recalled his earlier concerns. What Legolas had done was impressive, but still reckless. Had the force hidden been greater, had there been Uruks or warg riders, then the ellon would have been overwhelmed and either killed or captured. He renewed his resolve to temper his young mate's zeal, but wisely decided this was not the time to begin.

The Wood Elf met the wizard's eyes, which were smiling but showed the discomfort he was suffering. "Nín gohenach, Mithrandir?" (You forgive me?)

"What a question. Alnad gohenach, pen neth." (Nothing for me to forgive, young one.) He reached out and patted the archer's arm. "You did well."

"Aye, this was an incredible feat of daring and courage," said the man. "Yet we need to move on. If we were ever hidden, our presence is known now."

"Agreed. We are near the meres now; once we cross I can try to signal my people for aid," announced Legolas.

"Among the messages I sent, news flew to Greenwood that we would be returning, but I did not know how long it might take," added Mithrandir. "I gave no directive as to when to begin watching for us; a good thing, too, since I was not expecting you two to end up in Rohan. Valar willing, Thranduil has troops positioned along the woodland borders by now."

They turned from the pitted battle ground and set the horses trotting toward the Gladden, continuing the discussion as they rode.

"There will be war at Gladden; I see no way to avoid it," opined the wizard. "The Wraiths will know we'll try to cross there. That being so, I must ask that should we have to fight between now and then, you do not expend any light, pen neth."

"What do you mean? I burn light just breathing, Mithrandir," laughed the elf.

"Not that kind of use. I am talking about infusing every thrust and parry with faerlim."

"Aye, he's right, Melethen. You must hold back, the same way you dim your aura at night, reduce the strength you give to every blow," nodded Aragorn.

"I don't know what you two are talking about," said Legolas bemused.

Man and Maia looked at one another in consternation, then at the elf in wonder.

"Explain," insisted Legolas.

"If you cannot, how can we?" laughed Aragorn, shaking his head.

"Never mind, no time to investigate now," grumbled Mithrandir. "Perhaps it is some residual of the Song with which I cleansed you. Now come, we've leagues to cover yet."

It was true and both man and elf experienced a sudden, sinking dismay to hear it, feeling they had been struggling so hard for so long. Rohan seemed an Age ago; the battle at Baran Dalf ancient history. The fire of the fight cooled and the elation of victory gave way to morose melancholy. At the end of this harrowing journey more tribulation awaited them and they did not need to speak to know each dreaded the encounter with the Woodland King. With heavy hearts they turned the horses north.

TBC

 _NOTE: These last chapters have had the benefit of careful and thoughtful beta-reading by Aralas. With her help, there should be far fewer errors and things are hopefully clearer and for this I am grateful beyond words. It has been such a gift to have someone to listen to me think and give me a response that tells me whether I am coherent or not lol! Because of Aralas' remarks, things I had glossed over are now fleshed out and things I had omitted entirely have been brought forth. Not only that, but she offered encouragement and bolstered my confidence when I was quite ready to toss the whole thing out. Thus, if you liked this stuff, thank her, for I was going to cut nearly all of it, and some of it would never have been written. Anything still incorrect, or anything you just can't stand, well, that's all on me, folks._

 _I want to thank everyone who stuck with me even when this became so dark. Special thanks to An and Ch (not their real names) who have sent me positive feedback off-site, even on the dark chapters, and encouraged me to finish the story so everyone could have closure. Extra Extra Special Thanks to Ch for recommending the story to friends :D Hope the ending meets everyone's expectations. No, this is not the end, there is more to come, but some things will deliberately NOT be explained because a sequel is pending :)_  



	13. Chapter 13

beta'd by Aralas | Italics=thoughts

 

Chapter Thirteen: Among Friends?

Everything changed after that first battle. Legolas became both more aggressive and more cautious. He was driven, scouting half a league ahead of his companions and circling back two behind to make sure they were not tailed, running in an almost perpetual series of loops and swooping curves, sometimes astride Tuilelindô but as often on foot. He sought for every dip and pocket of verdure in which to hide, and threaded the man and the wizard through these more obscured paths, determined to keep them from harm if he could. If sneaking and stealth were his only advantage, he would use them to the utmost.

They moved quickly now, took rest in small snatches, spared the horses as much as possible but were constantly on the run. Twice they were nearly caught by troops of warg riders at night, but Legolas' reconnaissance proved invaluable. In both cases, they eluded the corrupt beasts and the three heroes were uncontested. Two more days brought them at last to the lush green meres of the Gladden Fields.

Before them the sword-leafed lilies spread in glorious abundance, the colour of the verdure a vibrant, spring-time emerald, a deceptive beauty that mimicked the flower-dotted meadows of firmer soil and obscured the boundaries of the vast, phlegmatic pools. Nodding heads of white blossoms belied the treachery of the shifting channels of Gladden's bloated delta, hiding bars of deep, sucking mud where a finger of the flood had shifted enough to drop its suspended load but not enough to let the land fully regain its claim. Here was the deepest point in the whole valley, but the flood plain was so broad that Gladden's flow spread out in a vast, shallow fenland as it merged with Anduin. Thus, it was also the most dangerous point because of the resultant quick-mud.

The significance of this location was lost on none of them: here had Isildur met his doom. A crossing was unavoidable. Through the western tract of the valley, the marshes stretched beyond a man's sight and if they ploughed through it to the banks opposite, there was still another ford to reach in order to gain Greenwood's side of Anduin. That took them through open fields with little cover. Since this was the case, the trio had elected to venture east and fare out into the Anduin, to push across and make for the forest's eaves. A battle here would be disastrous, yet all three deemed battle imminent.

Legolas could not suppress his anxiety completely and his fretting took the form of silent intensity, his eyes ever scanning the horizon for signs of trouble, his ears straining for any hint of unnatural sound, determined to shield his mate from the end Isildur had suffered. He became a shadow of argent light dogging Aragorn's steps, for they had decided to walk the horses through the bog rather than risk having them founder in the mire. Often he could not stop his fingers from reaching out to touch the man's arm, his shoulder, his hand.

Aragorn did not hinder him in this, understanding the misery in his mate's heart, for he felt the same anxiety and wished he could ease it a bit. Not for the first time the man regretted that he had only a life-time of struggle to offer, a warrior's life of perpetual hardship with no permanent home, no sheltered hearth, no enveloping cover of leaves and limbs to provide comfort and security. Legolas deserved better, but Legolas had chosen him.

"We cannot chance battle at night," Aragorn spoke as these thoughts assailed him. "If they have wargs, we'll be in trouble. Wargs are superb swimmers."

"There will be wargs, count on it," growled Mithrandir. "I think the only way to do this is to separate. I will journey through the marshes toward Carrock; you and Legolas head immediately for the Anduin."

"How is that going to fool them?" asked Legolas.

"It is not so impossible," Aragorn remarked. "All we need is for Mithrandir to use a little of that magic he stores up so judiciously. The Orcs will believe we are making a run for Beorn's realm."

"Then we should send the horses with him," suggested Legolas reluctantly. "Tuilelindô will guide him to safety if there is any means to do so."

"I don't like the idea of being on foot once we're on the other side," said Aragorn. "There will likely be more Orcs waiting there. Yet, the ruse will be more credible if there are three horses with him, and they will be impossible to disguise. You and I can dog-paddle through this watery terrain undiscovered if we are cautious."

"And camouflaged," grinned the archer. "I will see to it."

Thus the trio parted, Tuilelindô and Azrûbel following the wizard as man and elf prepared themselves, crafting crude head-dresses of rushes and matted reeds, lilies and cattails, smearing their faced dark with mud. Eyeing each other with the bizarre hats on, neither could suppress a burst of giggling, especially Aragorn since Legolas had constructed a wig with long tendrils of green to hide his lengthy golden mane. Anor reached her zenith and they sobered. They had waited long enough for Mithrandir to draw attention to the presence of three horses lurching noisily through the water. The high, bright sun ensured the Orcs would be sluggish and least willing to give chase.

Down into the mire plunged Aragorn and Legolas and the water was so shallow they were forced to crawl on hands and knees through the silty muck. They slithered and slunk through the fen, struggling not to splash or disrupt the thick cover of floating lily pads too much, pausing whenever Legolas' ears detected the faintest whisper of motion. As they came nearer the main channels emptying into Anduin, they often dropped suddenly into deeper holes and submerged, surfacing in coughing gurgles that they feared would draw the enemy right to them. Yet their luck held, or Mithrandir's trick had succeeded, and in time the lilies thinned, giving way to tall slender reeds, willows, and cattails; they had come to the edge of the great river and here they halted. The sun was now low in the sky; it had taken several hours to complete the journey and they were exhausted.

"What now?" asked Legolas. They were waist deep in the flood and from this vantage the distance to the eastern shore seemed too great to swim, tired as he felt, and surely it was. "We must go against the current, too, or risk being carried into the enemy's territory."

His words surprised Aragorn, for he had never thought to hear an elf admit to the permanence of the Shadow's presence in Mirkwood, particularly not a Wood Elf. Before he could craft an answer, one was supplied for him.

"What, indeed. How have you come to this point alive, muindorion?" (brother-son)

The voice was cultured and quiet, couched in low tones with an underlying ring of strangely bemused ambivalence that made Legolas gasp. Both he and Aragorn were startled, but the archer recognised his uncle and replied at once.

"Elboron! How came you to be here?"

"Where else would I be? Mithrandir said to watch for you and so we have these last many weeks. I am not the only one near at hand, for we surmised you might attempt to get across at Gladden, foolish though such a strategy may be. So, were you planning to swim, you and this mortal companion you have dragged into your doom?" There was no mistaking his cutting disapprobation now.

"Legolas saved my life," Aragorn spoke up at once, displeased to hear the Sindarin elf's cold tone. He found himself staring into compelling green eyes within a visage fair and lordly, yet Elboron was camouflaged much as were he and Legolas, his head crowned not with a mithril circlet but a limp, bedraggled corona of lilies and cattails. It made confronting the King's brother much easier. "So rather than dragging me into doom he has delivered me from it."

"Elboron, this is a noble man and worthy of your regard. He has Mithrandir's countenance." Legolas hastened to explain, then paused a miniscule moment of time. "How is Adar?"

"Alive, as are you," snapped Elboron and gave Aragorn a curt nod but did not bother to ask his name. He turned and waded along the bank, producing a soft quacking call such as a loon might make, and an answering warble replied. "Come, there is a boat. Where is the wizard?"

"Mithrandir provided us a diversion and drew off the Orcs lying in wait," said Aragorn, determined not to permit this haughty Sindarin prince to dismiss him so quickly. Elboron might not consider him important enough to warrant learning the man's name, but he would be forced to acknowledge him. "The Istar will meet us under the trees, if he survives."

"No worry of that," snorted Elboron, passing another survey over the human, up and down. "Good. I've words to trade with him." He began drawing a long canoe from the reeds and Legolas hurried to help him, but Elboron spoke past him to the man. "I hope you can paddle long and hard, echil, for there are Orcs poised to attack. We'll be under fire with little protection until we gain Greenwood's borders. Our archers will cover our emergence from the water there."

"I will not fail you," assured Aragorn, "and Legolas will be our safeguard for the crossing."

Elboron graced his nephew with an openly critical inspection. "Is that the bow you plan to use?"

"Aye, a gift from Rohan, though its range is somewhat short for this work," admitted the archer contritely.

"Rohan?" Elboron spat the word with sharp surprise and stared at his nephew, incredulous.

"They were not responsible for what happened," Legolas hastened to explain. "Their people were also killed and shadow men took their places, donned their clothing and helms, stole the horses to fool us."

"I see," murmured Elboron, eyes narrowed and lips set. "You've got your answers then, it seems." Yet he was curious how Legolas had ended up in the horse-lords' lands, and once more his sight travelled over the mortal so staunchly planted at his nephew's right hand. "You are not from Rohan."

"No. I encountered Legolas in Baran Dalf where his intervention spared me and earned him a poisoned wound."

"And now you remain by his side because you feel you owe him?" Elboron was intrigued. Men were curious folk.

"I owe him much, but that is not why I am here," Aragorn bristled, uncertain why this description of his motives bothered him so much. He found himself praying the prince did not press him to explicate his reasons.

"That's how I lost my bow," Legolas interposed, woebegone and bewildered. He truly didn't want Aragorn to be dragged into his doom. "I dropped it when…"

"No matter," Elboron snapped, waving away further explanation. "There is one here in the boat. Ready yourself." With this terse command he pulled himself aboard and grabbed Aragorn by the arm, heaving him in quickly.

Even as Legolas hauled his body over the side a snarling bellow sounded nearby and a high, whining zing warned him just in time; he hunched low as the lethal dart of a deadly crossbow flew free, missing him by little more than a finger's width. Scant yards away from them, a boat darted out of the reeds bearing three Orcs, one taking aim with the mechanical weapon. With haste Legolas fired the Rohirric bow and skewered his fiendish counterpart, then took up the elvish weapon and strung it that he might have the range to which he was accustomed.

The Orcs shouted curses, one of them marking Elboron in the crossbow's sights, but another canoe had emerged from the banks almost simultaneously and from it a second elven archer targeted the shooter. Between him and Legolas, the crude craft was drifting off downstream with its cargo of corpses in seconds. The archer in the other boat lifted his bow in salute and Legolas did the same.

Elboron took seat at the prow and Aragorn in the stern and together they drove against the flow in long, deep strokes, alternating side to side to force the canoe upstream. From several spots along the bank came Orcs in similar boats, and far on the other side the man could just make out several dark slivers gliding through the stream, like a nest of black vipers taken to the water. His attention returned to Legolas kneeling between him and Elboron, balanced at midship, carefully aiming to destroy the approaching foes.

He had not had opportunity to so closely observe the Wood Elf at his art and the man was fascinated. Logically, he knew the ellon's hand had to move to retrieve an arrow, nock it, draw the string and release it, but he could hardly follow the motion. Likewise, he realised the boat was not still and stable, yet Legolas betrayed no indications that he was compensating for the swaying and jerky bobbing. Not from false vanity had he named Legolas their safeguard for the crossing. The man was quietly jubilant and proud of his mate's skill. The sensation leant him strength and he rowed harder to match Elboron's considerable power. Before long, their speed granted them a lead too great to be overtaken by any foes hiding along the western shore.

Legolas knelt in the canoe and fired a steady barrage of missiles into the oncoming fleet. A miss was a rare thing but he noted several, scowling bitterly when an arrow struck wood or silently plunged into the river, never to be retrieved. A quirk in the current or a ripple in the water's surface could spare an enemy. He had never fought in such conditions before and viewed each miss with incriminating regret. He ran out of arrows and still the Orcs paddled toward them, more entering the river every minute it seemed. Behind them, the other archer was also out of bolts. Legolas scanned the belly of the canoe in vain; Elboron had only furnished three extra bundles and he had used them.

"Why didn't you bring more?" he demanded, frustrated, but did not wait for an answer. He stowed the bow in his harness and dove into the water, swimming for the nearest Orcish boat.

"Legolas!" Aragorn called in alarm. Elboron glanced at him quickly, a speculative look in those sharp eyes. "What is he doing?" demanded the man.

"Getting more arrows, I would think," answered the Sindarin prince drily. "If you want to aid him, paddle faster." So saying he increased his effort and the man could do nothing less, gasping for breath to meet the challenge, sweating from the strain, all the while watching the streaming ripples where Legolas cut through the water.

Black arrows peppered the undulating surface of the river and he could tell some were close enough to pierce his mate. Heart in his throat, the man willed his arms to lift, plunge, drive; lift, plunge, and drive, eyes on that moving 'V' where Legolas swam. Suddenly the elf vanished beneath the surface and Aragorn feared the worst, unaware of the fierce yell he gave or the corresponding surprise on Elboron's face.

Yet his fears were dispelled the next moment when suddenly Legolas surfaced beside an enemy boat, leaping high from the water as he grabbed one of the paddles and pulled the Orc holding it into the flood with him. They fought, the chaotic struggle obscured by fountains of water and the hull of the boat as they grappled, and Aragorn had never felt so completely helpless in all his days, but his mate triumphed, stabbing the Orc viciously over and over, all the while dodging wild blows from the second Orc's paddle. A flick of the elf's wrist sent the dagger sailing and buried it in the oar wielder's black heart. Legolas clambered aboard, pulled out the knife and cut loose the Orc's quiver, heaved the carcass overboard, and armed his bow with the enemies' bolts. It was a sweet irony, delivering death on the points of their own arrows, and Legolas wore a feral grin. His uncle's boat pulled alongside and he crossed over.

"Take me there, Elboron," he said, sparing a brief, reassuring glance at Aragorn, shooting the Orcish archer indicated, and the prince complied.

This became their pattern of attack: Legolas shooting all his arrows, then diving back into the water to reach a boat where there would be more waiting, Elboron and Aragorn following to retrieve him. A glance behind showed the other sylvan archer imitating Legolas, and the numbers of their enemies began to drop.

"Resourceful, that one," Elboron laughed with grim delight, shaking his head as Legolas killed off another boatload of Orcs and dived into the river to go steal their arrows. "Come, we cannot permit him to have all the glory, can we?"

They steered toward a likely combatant, oars tearing into the liquid furiously so that they rammed the boat with enough force to toss one of the foes into the water. A battle of swords and paddles ensued, the canoes rocking and tipping almost as one craft, until Elboron grew bored with it and lightly leaped into the enemy's boat and neatly slit the Orcs' throats. He jumped back to Aragorn's side grinning a jackal's leer: canines exposed, eyes flicking here and there seeking prey. "Next one I will leave for you, echil."

He was as good as his word and Aragorn found himself standing in the stern of the canoe, broadsword ready, feeling like a target even a half-blind, arthritic Orc archer could not miss. In the distance, he thought he heard Legolas shout, spotted his mate in the water again, but they were now nearly on top of the enemy and action was required. "Elendil!" he bellowed and attacked, first amputating the Orcs' hands as they tried to parry his blows with oars, then beheading them. The strength required made him over-balance on the swaying surface; he sat hard and the canoe almost tipped them into the river. "Well done!" the King's brother roared with laughter. Aragorn sheathed his sword and took up his paddle, wondering if all the Wood Elves were mad.

Despite the struggle, they had made significant progress and neared the eastern banks. The trees loomed, leaning low over the river, crowded up to the brink of the flow as though about to plunge in. A thick flight of arrows suddenly soared from the upper branches and several Orcs met death. Another volley reduced their numbers again and a hoarse call in Black Speech rang through the air. The cowardly demons turned and began retreating downstream, making for their fortress, for it was clear enough they would not defeat the elves this day. Aragorn heard a loud outcry, at once victorious and defiant, and watched a great host of Wood Elves leaping down from the trees and chasing along the bank, firing after the fleeing foes, shouting curses and slurs.

All at once Legolas popped up beside Elboron's boat and Aragorn gave a hand, pulling him aboard. "You are not hurt?" he asked.

"Nay." Legolas checked Aragorn over in silence and satisfied himself the man was uninjured. Drenched, shivering, and his head-dress long lost, Legolas was nonetheless pleased with the outcome of the battle. He offered his mate a fleeting smile, pulled the reedy crown from the man's head, and took up the third paddle. He glanced at his uncle's stiff back as he dipped the oar. "No casualties," he reported quietly. It was important; they'd risked much to see him safely across.

For all his praise earlier, Elboron had no congratulatory thanks for his nephew, casting a disparaging eye over him as he said: "I'd not say that. You've ruined that bow, dousing it in the river."

"I'll make you another," assured Legolas.

"What good is that? I can make another; the bow is an heirloom."

"Why'd you bring it, then?"

"To honour you."

Legolas drew an audible breath and gave no answer, nor could he hold his uncle's eyes. He gazed upon the bow instead, touched the weapon with reverence, clenched his jaw against the strong emotion suddenly afflicting his throat.

Aragorn was lost, looking from one prince to the other, for he considered this a strange conversation under the circumstances. He couldn't fathom its meaning, but when he parted his lips to inquire Legolas set a hand on his arm and gave a firm shake of his head, the expression in his eyes both pleading and warning. The man covered the hand and squeezed, wanting nothing so much as to take Legolas to his heart, for he knew the chill running through the elf was not all from immersion in Anduin.

They steered a course along the shadowed banks, the other elven boat behind them, and came to a suitable pull-out. Here the company of archers waited, milling about and talking quietly, but all fell silent as Aragorn and Legolas stepped on dry land. Yet Legolas ignored them, turning to their escort on the voyage and its occupants, or rather one in particular, the second archer. Smiling in glad relief, he held out his hand to help him ashore.

"Celon'lir!" he exclaimed. "I cannot begin to say how happy I am to see you. I thought you dead."

The elf did not accept his help and tossed his bow to another warrior so that he and his companions could drag their boat up onto the muddy shingle. "I thought the same of you, muindoradar (uncle), yet here you are," said Celon'lir, using almost the same words Elboron had uttered, his tone just as wary and suspicious. He avoided looking at Legolas directly and moved around his uncle, instead giving the man close scrutiny as he passed, and took a spot near Elboron.

Legolas' smile vanished and his hand fell lax at his side as he scanned the elves gathered at the cove. All eyes were focused on the sodden archer and his human companion and Aragorn instinctively reached for that rejected hand. His grip was returned with a clasp so tight it spoke of desperation and he looked to see fear in the wide blue irises focused on Elboron.

"I have a promise to keep," said Legolas, his voice shaking. In fact his entire body was shaking.

"What promise?" demanded Elboron, folding his arms over his heart.

"It is between me and my father, at my mother's behest. I must see him."

At this a sharp bark of laughter broke from one of the warriors and several shook their heads, murmuring darkly. "Gwarth," (Betrayer) one spat and hearing this word made Aragorn's heart stumble.

Elboron held up his hand to command silence and the ugly mood stilled. "You know I cannot let you near him, not without some proof or surety. Can you give me such?"

"What of the battle just engaged?" Legolas asked, pointing behind to the river. "Would I kill them if I was one of them?"

"Aye, they kill each other all the time," remarked a dour warrior. "I have heard an Orc gains majority by killing its mother."

At this, Legolas went white and still, wide eyes locked with his accuser, and could summon no retort. Aragorn, however, exploded in outrage. "Enough! How could you say such things? Is this the way of the Wood Elves, to punish those who have endured unimaginable torment and misery?"

"Who are you to inquire of our ways?" rebuked Elboron and again he held up a palm, silencing the reply on the man's lips. "Your interest in this matter needs to be addressed, but until it is you have neither right nor authority to speak out. This is our law." He took a step toward his nephew. "Legolas, you know the proof I need; can you produce it or not?"

"Yes, but not right here and now." Several groans and muttered expletives followed this but suddenly Legolas shouted over them. "Mithrandir has it, for I stowed it in my pack."

"Silence!" commanded Elboron and the complaining ceased. "Why does Mithrandir have this token, muindorion? I would think it too important to you to trust to anyone, even one of the Istari."

"I did not want to chance losing it in the water, thinking I would have to swim. Tuilelindô will meet us near the forest gate, for she is guiding the wizard there," he answered.

"Then, we will journey to the forest gate," Elboron replied and gave a heavy sigh. "Your weapons." He came forward and held out his hand for the Rohirric bow and the dagger he knew his nephew would have hidden somewhere. Then he caught his breath, seeing the long knife. "Ai! Give it over at once! Can you dare to wield it?" He snatched the blade from Legolas and inspected it carefully, staring at his nephew in horror and anger.

"Why should he not wield it? She would want him to have it," rebuked Aragorn, beyond his limit for tolerance. He felt nothing but contempt for whatever their barbaric laws required; he was ready to challenge this haughty prince and make him pay for his harsh words.

"Again you overstep your bounds, echil, but I will let Legolas answer your query," said Elboron coolly. His searching eyes raked the trembling archer. "Did she intend for you to have this? Did she place it in your hands?" Legolas was shaking his bowed head, unable to meet his uncle's scathing glare. "No, of course she did not. If she had still possessed a weapon, she would have used it on herself. How come you to possess it? Only the Wraiths could have taken it from her while she lived. Did they give this into your keeping?"

"Nay! It is not that…I didn't…Mithrandir must have found it; he brought it to me." Legolas tried to explain and a miserable groan escaped his lips. Elboron knew what he'd done, but not how he'd done it, and this he could not bring himself to reveal.

At once Aragorn felt terrible for putting his mate in a position to have to answer these questions and pulled him close, not caring if it was improper among the Wood Elves to display such feelings or not. Whatever courtesy they might possess in other situations, he could not condone their cruelty in this one. It was plain enough they held to the ancient prejudice against those unfortunate few who escaped captivity in the Shadow's lair. True, he had worried about this himself, but he was not prepared to condemn Legolas without strong evidence of such corruption.

"I am sorry, Melethen. I did not know it would be this way."

"My love?" Celon'lir repeated, surprised, and numerous snickers resounded around him. Yet his next words were not so cold anymore. "That explains his interest in the matter." he sighed, an exhalation partly relieved, partly resigned.

"Foolish human," another elf scolded. "Why take a snake to your bed? It will only sink its fangs into you, caring nothing about your death."

"Legolas saved my life," announced Aragorn loudly enough for all ears, stunned to hear almost the same analogy Selwyn had used. "We share a bond of life over death. I will not tolerate anymore slurs of this nature. The next to speak so must be prepared to meet my challenge."

"Kalrô, no!" Legolas cried. Aragorn was strong and bold, but no match for a sylvan warrior.

"So be it; your claim is recognised," said Elboron. He came closer and raised his nephew's chin, forcing the shame-faced elf to meet his gaze. "Legolas, this is almost surety enough," he said more gently and laid his hand on the archer's shoulder. "He is your mate?"

"Aye," whispered Legolas, struggling for composure.

"I am glad you will not face this trial alone, muindorion," Elboron whispered back, and extracted him from Aragorn's hold for a swift embrace before returning him, carefully and firmly wrapping each of the man's arms about his nephew's body, steady stare examining the man with more interest and less animosity. "I am glad," he repeated and gripped Aragorn's shoulder, then turned and faced his warriors. "Let it be known, should that challenge require an answer, I will stand as champion for this man." He turned from them, brisk and imperious, defying further questions or comments and calling orders as he went. The warriors quickly fell into ranks and followed, Legolas and Aragorn surrounded on all sides.

The way was long and the journey trying, far more tense and uncomfortable than their travels among the Rohirrim, in Aragorn's opinion, and he found his heart heavy. It occurred to him that no small amount of his uneasiness was due to being encircled by these daunting people, outnumbered and completely at their mercy. Neither did it escape his thoughts that mayhap this was not unlike Legolas' experience among the men of Rohan. If so, then Elbroron was for him what Selwyn had been for the archer. Aragorn's thoughts simmered in convoluted and contesting patterns, first glad of Elboron's remarks about his union to Legolas, then perplexed by them; glad of his offer to champion him, then uneasy over whether this obliged him in any way to the prince.

Through all these ruminations intervened his concern for Legolas, who could not stop shaking. The ellon's fingers were like ice against his palm and he had not raised his head or lifted his voice in song since before the battle in the fog. He would not speak, shaking his head at any question Aragorn tried to raise. His hair draped round his downcast countenance in messy disarray and Legolas looked more defeated than the man had seen him since the breakdown in Rohan. Aragorn was growing more alarmed with every step, but feared to leave the elf's side long enough to demand answers from Elboron.

Out of deference for his lesser capacity for graceful agility, or so Aragorn supposed, the Wood Elves did not take to the trees, but he wondered why they did not call for horses and thus make the journey quicker and easier. At this rate it would take days to reach the forest gate. He wasn't sure Legolas had strength to endure their silent censure that long. When evening came to the forest, Elboron called a halt and made his way back to his nephew, but it was Aragorn he addressed.

"You may take him up here," he indicated a tall beech nearby. "There is a talan in the branches not too far from the ground, a lookout of sorts. We have many like this along the edge of the forest made for the woodsmen to keep watch over the valley. All you need should be there; if not, call down to the guards. Celon'lir will answer."

He turned to go but Aragorn caught his arm. "Wait. Tell me what is happening here. Is Legolas a prisoner in his own homeland?"

"Has he said nothing to you?" Elboron gave an aggrieved sigh and glanced at his forlorn nephew as the man shook his head. "He is a prisoner, yes. Once taken by the Wraiths, we cannot trust anyone who comes out of that Tower. Legolas is not the first to do so, and there have not been many, but I have seen them. I killed one, hardly recognisable as an elf anymore: all the soul gone and in its place nothing but a black madness, a hunger to destroy. It is horrible to see and I was not sorry to take its life. That is what the ellon would have chosen for himself if he still had a soul. Now here is Legolas, the first in my own family to suffer this fate, but I cannot let that change what I know to be right. We have laws, a means of testing the integrity of an elf's feä, and to these Legolas will be subjected."

"But Mithrandir cleansed him," insisted Aragorn, hoping this would have some impact, but the prince was shaking his head.

"What you say may be true; when we meet the wizard we'll learn of his actions. If Mithrandir vouches for his spirit, so be it. That in addition to your claim as his mate will be enough, for Orcs breed aplenty but do not bond one to another. Being soulless, lightless, and devoid of feeling, how can they? The other tests will not be needed. I will both rejoice and grieve then. Until then, I cannot let Legolas near the King, and not without proof that he did what he was duty bound to do. After that, it is Thranduil's right to take vengeance or to show mercy. We will not interfere; neither shall you." Elboron spared his nephew a pained look and turned to go, but abruptly faced the man. "How are you called?"

"Aragorn son of Arathorn." The man never hesitated an instant to share this, doubting Elboron would know the significance of the name, and frankly too disturbed by what he'd just been told to care. Thranduil would not choose vengeance, surely. Yet he was not so sure.

"Truly?" The prince's brows lifted as curious wonder softened Elboron's rigid expression. "Mae govannen, hîl od Elendil," (Well met, heir of Elendil) he said with a slight dip of his head. "Do not speak that name again out here; unfriendly ears are always listening. I cannot guess what strange fate has decreed this union, nor can I say if it will be good for Legolas, but welcome. You have joined Nôrê Domilindê, one of the most ancient and revered clans of Greenwood." Now he turned to Legolas and his words were too low for other than the three of them to hear. "Go with him, muindorion, and renew your strength." He strode away rapidly without waiting for a reply, clearly overcome with distress.

Legolas gave forth a low groan and turned, dropping his head against his mate's chest.

"Melethen, I wish you had told me about this," Aragorn whispered, enfolding him in sheltering arms, voice hushed and heavy.

"Why? What difference would that make?" asked the distraught elf. The face he raised was pinched in with pained confusion. "Are you saying you would not have come had you known? Are you…are you going to abandon me now?"

"No! I did not mean that," Aragorn took him at the shoulders and shook him a little then pulled him close again and held him. "I would have refused to come, that is true, but I would have taken you with me to Eriador at once, never bringing you here. I would have insisted on Mithrandir fulfilling that promise."

"That would not be acceptable to my people, nor to me," Legolas sighed. "Please, let's go up. I am weary and cold and my heart is burdened."

"Ai! Do not lose hope. Just as I swore to protect you in Rohan, so I make the same vow now. No one is going to take vengeance upon you after all you've endured, especially since you should never have been forced to endure it."

"I was not forced," argued Legolas but then he exhaled another moan and decided it was too exhausting to argue. "Please, Besnô."

Whispered murmuring among the warriors nearby told them this word had been overheard, but Aragorn wasn't clear if the elves resented the union or not. In other circumstances, he would have felt confident he understood objections to his claim on one of their own, but now he wondered if they were angry with him or with Legolas, or merely curious. He hoped the latter. He had not brought Legolas safely out of Rohan and under the very eyes of the Wraiths only to stand by and watch these sylvans destroy him. He took Legolas by the elbow and led him to the tree, eager to get him away from these sternly probing stares.

He gazed up into the branches at the sturdy talan there, then back at his mate's slumped frame. It was not very high, but still higher than he cared to climb, especially as there were no branches ready to hand to aid his ascent. Legolas did not look fit for it, either, and Aragorn doubted he could carry him. He frowned, glancing at the silent guards watching them, and motioned to Celon'lir. "Since this was made for men, there must be a ladder of sorts. Will you secure it for me?"

"Can't your 'Meleth' go up and do this thing?" the other guard spoke scornfully, cutting a swift sneer at Legolas as he spoke.

"Aye, I'll go," said Legolas, but Aragorn gripped his arm tighter.

"Nay," the man's spine stiffened at this open taunt and he pulled Legolas back. "You will not speak of him that way. Legolas is my Hervenn; you may use his name, or his title, or…."

"Enough, I will tend to it," said Celon'lir.

"Nay, I am going now," Legolas tore free and verily ran up the trunk.

The man watched him and turned back to Celon'lir. "Why must you shun him?" he asked quietly. "Legolas was grief stricken to think you dead. He told me you were like brothers. Have you no feeling left for him?" The rope ladder unfurled at that moment and dangled beside him, but Aragorn waited, wanting an answer.

"Kalrô, please," Legolas hissed from the edge of the platform.

"I cannot be held accountable for your ignorance," stated Celon'lir. "I am grief stricken; he is grief stricken; we are all grief stricken; aren't you? Now go and do what you can to comfort your Hervenn, echil, for your time together is short."

"What do you mean?" demanded Aragorn, but Celon'lir didn't answer. He lifted his eyes to his uncle and this time Aragorn saw the sorrow in them. Then the ellon turned his back on the man and rejoined his comrade.

"Kalrô!" Legolas called, pleading openly, and the word was like a knife in the man's heart.

He hurried up the ladder and before anything else took the elf's face between his hands and kissed him deeply. "Sîdh, Im sí, Im sí." (Peace, I'm here, I'm here.) He stood and pulled Legolas upright, secured him in his arms, and looked at the place they would spend the night. There were blankets and bedding, clean clothing, water and food. Clearly, Elboron had anticipated the need for all of these.

Or perhaps it was Mithrandir's instructions.

Legolas was leaning heavily against him, head resting against his heart; the man eased them both down onto the pallet. He knew well what Legolas needed but wondered whether the elf would be willing given the size of the audience below, nor was he eager to make a display of their love, either. Yet, the man was not about to make Legolas do the asking, deciding he would rather be rejected than hurt the elf that way again. He tipped the dolorous countenance up and kissed Legolas again, glad to feel the response of the vital, invasive tongue teasing back. He started to divest the archer of the rumpled clothes but Legolas stopped him.

"I don't like this anymore than you," he whispered. "It is humiliating, all of them listening, spying with their ears." He snuggled closer, a sad breath leaving him as he tucked his head beneath the man's chin. "Yet we must. If you refuse to lie with me, it is as much as saying we are not really mates."

"Are you serious?" Aragorn asked and frowned when Legolas nodded assent. "You know I would never refuse you, Melethen, whatever the circumstances. Besides, we will both forget them once we start." This produced only a half-hearted shrug and another sigh. The man mentally winced, realising these were not the most romantic words with which to engage the distraught elf.

More than a little worried, he knew Legolas needed to renew their bond and restore his spirit after the draining experience just endured and the battles before it. An idea came to him and a slow, exuberant smile crept over Aragorn's face. It was generally Legolas who made the first overtures for intimacy, for the man still had reservations about the morality of his union with the archer. He had permitted himself to accede by excusing his craving as a remedy for Legolas' recovering feä; tonight he would declare the true nature of his appetite. Nuzzling the mussed hair, he slipped a hand beneath the back of the archer's tunic, running it over the rigid spine as he leaned close to an exposed ear tip. "I need you, Hervenn," he whispered and gently bit the reddening peak.

"Ai! Kalrô!" Legolas yelped softly and jumped a little. He raised a faintly inquiring smile to Aragorn, noting the expression of desire and love in the grey eyes, and if love was more prominent than desire, he was not displeased with that. He sat up and caressed the rugged cheek, eyes falling to the firm mouth. "Ah, Aragorn," he sighed, leaning in to sample carmine lips that opened to receive him and then promptly stole away dominion. Legolas did not mind; it was as he preferred.

Restive fingers migrated into the man's unkempt locks, combing and carding; the other hand settled on his muscular thigh, slid in slow rhythm up to the crotch and back, never touching there, the sub-audible sensation of skin slipping over tight leather lost in the subtle signs and subdued sounds of mouths and tongues tenderly enmeshed, engaged in the gentle, voiceless combat universal to mates and lovers the world over, yet unique to every pair of hearts: sibilant sighs and liquid, languid snaps as lips parted only to seal tight again. Legolas' heart sang out in noiseless exultation, a music purely of soul, a wordless, timeless theme of ardent yearning, and heard its echo in Aragorn's rising pulse.

The man shifted about yet refused to relinquish possession even to disarm; in the midst of their quiet oral interchange, the clamour of his broadsword and belt toppling to the floor rang a raucous chord they both ignored. Legolas felt careful hands, blindly persistent, undoing his clothes and let them, content to remain as he was, feeding on the hungry lips that claimed his over and again. He remembered their first kiss, so brief, so bitter, so filled with the man's light.

Even then, understanding nothing, Aragorn had withheld nothing. And even now, knowing everything, he gave all. Radiance filled Legolas' spirit until there was no room for sorrow and the icy numbness in his bones melted. His skin tingled; delicious warmth raced through him, leaving every sensitive zone aroused and flushed. He withdrew from the consuming lips and met grey eyes no longer lacking in fiery heat.

"Ah, Kalrô," he smiled, "shadow and darkness cannot touch me while your light fills me." His next moan was soft and decadent and he fell back readily when Aragorn pressed him down, his tunic and shirt gone, where he did not care.

Aragorn covered him, deeply moved, eager to have his mate, to prove the bond could once more salve the hurts and harms Legolas had suffered. He rained kisses and caresses over every available speck of skin and hair, murmured incoherent little sounds of anguished joy. Aragorn wanted to savour every touch, every caress, eyes travelling the half-naked body, pausing here and there as he tried to decide where to begin. At moments like this, everything about the archer was erotic. He took one of the elegant hands and kissed the palm, drew the long fingers into his mouth one by one and sucked them, eyes locked on the elf's, heart racing to see the pupils dilate and fill with avid hunger.

He let the hand go and focused on the delicate elegance of the archer's ear again, flushed and warm where he licked across the rosy pinnacle. He tested the firm flesh of the tip, biting down to wring another shuddering gasp from his mate, grinned to hear it. He dabbed his tongue into the whorls of the cartilage and nipped at the small lobe, lapped behind it and tasted the faint tang of salt. "Hervenn," he whispered and watched the ripple of delight that ran over Legolas as the word wafted over the damp skin. He pressed his tongue down in tiny kisses across the archer's jaw line, ending with a peck on the nose and another exploration of the archer's willing mouth.

"Besnô," Legolas whispered back when it was done, twisting a dark, wayward lock round his index finger. He smiled, brushing the bearded cheek still crusted faintly with mud, touching the firm chin, eyes first on the sensuous mouth parted so just a hint of teeth showed, then on grey eyes at once tender and tempestuous. Their mouths joined again.

A transcendent joy spread through Legolas as the strong, vibrant light of the man's spirit filtered into his heart and he reached for him, yanked to bring him closer as though to fuse their lips eternally. He needed more, needed Aragorn against him, skin to skin, and busied himself with the clasps and lacings of the heavy tunic. The kiss ended as Aragorn sat back, eager to get out of the clothes, and he watched in dreamy appreciation as the man shrugged out of them, baring his broad chest and its soft pelt of silky hair. Legolas dragged his nails through it and across nipples already erect and the colour of wine.

"Ah," Aragorn inhaled, drew his shoulders straight, expanded his diaphragm and flexed his pectorals, pleased that Legolas found him desirable. He ran his hand over the smooth expanse of the archer's belly and up to his nipples, so pointed and red, and pinched them, one and then the other, and because that was tantalising rather than satisfying, bent low and lapped at them, drew the heated nodules in and rolled his tongue over them.

Beneath him Legolas made another quiet moan, settled a hand at the back of his head, pressed him closer, while the other slid down and dipped under the waist of the man's trousers, seeking. Fingertips encountered the hot, slick pinnacle of the engorged penis and delicately caressed the sensitive surface, a hint of nails concluding the contact. His touch raised a gruff growl, an awkward shift of the Ranger's hips, and severed their oral contact. Legolas grinned, fiddling with the unusual fastenings he'd not seen until meeting Aragorn, pushing the flat bone disks through slots in leather drawn taut after drying during the long march.

Aragorn watched, breath harsh and ragged, as the pants were opened, eyes glued to that hand as it disappeared, fisted his rigid shaft, and drew it out. The elf stroked him hard once, grip tightening, and Aragorn groaned, closed his hand over the archer's and took control of the pace. It was incredibly erotic but he wanted more and returned his gaze to the elf's. His eyes dropped to the archer's luscious mouth, imagined his cock rocking into its warm wet suction, and forced an abrupt halt to the stimulation. With a garbled oath, he kicked free of his boots and shoved the trousers off, crawled back to Legolas on hands and knees, crouched beside the angelic face, tipped the ruddy organ toward him.

Legolas was pleased to accommodate him and rolled to his side, admiring the proud column of flesh rising out of its nest of tight black curls, the scent pungent, and lapped up the clear, slippery fluid. The taste was acrid, but not unpleasantly so, and he sampled it again, running his tongue the length of the organ. The man uttered an incoherent cry and Legolas peered up at him, felt his heart leap at the avid plea in the grey eyes, and settled his lips over the blunt point, sucking as he swirled his tongue across the slit. Immediately he had to retreat for Aragorn gave a shout and lunged forward, shoving the thick root against his palate. He fought the urge to gag and heard frantic apologies as the man's hands, shaking, stroked his cheek, his hair. He retained just the tip between his lips and breathed.

Again Legolas raised his eyes and met an expression of mortified appeal, something he had never seen on anyone's face before, and smiled around the penis. They tried again, Aragorn trembling in his effort to hold still as Legolas slowly dropped his head and filled his mouth. He gripped the root with his hand and withdrew, increasing the suction as he did, and the wavering ovation from his mate was exhilarating. He repeated the manoeuvre and pumped in concert with his increasing pace, voraciously suckling, recreating Aragorn's dream in every detail. He hummed out a contented little sigh and readied himself to receive the man's bitter ejaculate, but the comforting weight of Aragorn's hand atop his head suddenly changed into a clutching fist yanking him up and off.

"Ai! Oh Valar, stop!" Aragorn cried, panting, and tore the hand off his root, too. He sat down, shuddering, a deep groan churning through his lungs, Legolas' wrist clamped in his fist. A quick gush of a breath escaped his lips as he smiled at the confused Wood Elf. "It's good, but perhaps too good," he huffed.

"Let me finish," insisted Legolas, twisting to work his hand free, but the man held on.

"Nay, nay," whispered Aragorn. He knew what Legolas liked and was determined to cater to his mate. "You're still half-dressed," he observed and remedied the situation, pulling off Legolas' boots and untying the laces of his leggings. He peeled the skin-tight leather down, grinning as the elf lifted his rear to help. The slender, rigid shaft rose up eagerly once freed and the man took hold of it at once, pumping with persistent pressure, Legolas bucked into the stimulation. He exhaled a lusty grunt, spread his legs, and propped himself up on his elbows to watch. Yet Aragorn was in no hurry and kept his motion slow and steady, watching with delight as the elf squirmed and pushed the rosy cock into his hand.

"Valar, you are beautiful like this," he said softly, filled with wonder that Legolas was his to handle so intimately. His free fingers feathered through the fine, wispy pubic hair and fondled the tight, smooth sac, raising a sigh of pleasure as the elf fell back trembling. Yet Aragorn's smile faltered a little, for once again he was confronted with that obvious difference between Legolas and other elves he'd seen, the reason for it now known.

There was a scar here, jaggedly lumpy and barely visible in the dark, but of course he'd examined it before, and inside the scrotum only one firm gland rolled within the velvety pouch. 'Males are just castrated and slowly tortured to death…' Legolas' matter-of-fact explanation replayed through his mind. The implications were sickening. Aragorn forced his thoughts from such speculation; Legolas had never alluded to his disfigurement, not since his embarrassment over the man's close scrutiny the night in Rohan when they'd first seen each other naked. He slipped his fingers back across the tender perineum until they encountered the sealed anus. He rubbed it gently as Legolas moaned and eagerly lifted a leg onto his shoulder.

"Aye, Kalrô, aye," he encouraged, voice quiet but urgent, lungs straining for air. "Need you, need you now."

It was not a request Aragorn was capable of refusing but he spared a moment, rummaging in the basket of bathing supplies near at hand, hoping fate had provided for this need, too. He was not disappointed, finding a balm used for easing sore muscles and bruised skin. They'd not had anything so fitting to make the experience less stressful for Legolas' body. The man knew he became sore during intercourse but bore the pain without complaint, driven by the demands of his diminished soul. As Aragorn was trying to decide whether to coat himself first or the elf, a hand wrapped round his cock and pulled hard.

"Ai! Legolas, Valar!" hissed Aragorn, permitting himself to be tugged to the pallet were he was summarily shoved onto his back and straddled, Legolas backside settling neatly atop the engorged organ. He rocked slightly and they both groaned as the thick erection twitched in the enveloping heat.

"What have you got there?" asked Legolas, eyes bright with mischief and desire.

"You should be familiar with it by now, Hervenn," chuckled Aragorn.

"Nay, you know what I mean," giggled the archer and wriggled his behind against the hot hard rod, stroking himself in the process.

"Elbereth!" Aragorn groaned, snatching Legolas at the waist and rolling him over so that he was once more poised an arm's length above him. He claimed another passionate kiss and then sat back, panting for air. He held up the salve. "To spare you discomfort," he huffed, opening the jar and scooping out a liberal amount. Then he scooted lower and devoured the archer's rigid cock, insinuating his slick fingers through the anus and massaging the tender spot he located effortlessly.

As always, Legolas was reduced to purely instinctive responses wholly lascivious in nature, and though he tried to be quiet he became progressively louder. He didn't care, gratefully losing himself to the sensations: his penis encased in fiery, wet, suction, Aragorn's tongue bathing the excited flesh, the man's appreciative moan reverberating through it, the faint and fleeting impress of teeth, and the probing advance of the fingers into his core. They had developed a rhythm to their love-making and Legolas let it sweep him up, knowing his orgasm would initiate the next phase, complete union of body and soul. He reached his peak thinking of the ecstasy to come, smiling into the kiss his mate wanted, crinkling his nose at the acrid flavour of his own essence, panting for air.

He lay sprawled out, boneless and contented, yet eager for their joining, and watched in languid anticipation as Aragorn readied himself. The man massaged more of the slippery gel onto his weeping organ, pointing the dark, distended cock at the elf as he working his hand up and down with slow, deliberate strokes, priming himself.

"You can't know what it is like for me," Aragorn murmured, a half-shake of his head accompanying his slow evaluation of the debauched elf displayed before him. "It is almost unbearable to claim you, yet I cannot resist. I must…" He finished the sentence without words, taking up the long lean legs and shimmying forward, engorged penis questing for the slippery hole, groaning out a tight breath as he found it and drilled in.

There was a sharp slap as their flesh collided but it was drowned out by the man's shout of thrilled triumph. After that Legolas shut down everything but his awareness of his mate thrusting into him, relishing the low, strained grunt escaping Aragorn with every impact. Fully sheathed, the man retreated, repeating the pounding contact, impaling him over and over. Legolas held on as best he could, grabbing at an arm, gripping his back, kissing the dark crown of hair whenever Aragorn's head rocked toward him, surrendering utterly to such sweet and tender violence. He grew hard anew, wailing as the sensitive tip of his shaft raked against the man's belly. Swift flashes of brilliance danced through his vision and his heart was awash in almost unbearable joy.

Aragorn gave everything; Legolas gave back in full measure, and the bond between them expanded, tightly knitting the two souls together. It never lasted long enough and too soon Aragorn's muscles tensed and with a final forceful shove he came, groaning long and low in his pleasure.

He rocked slowly to a halt and paused, struggling for breath, and smiled in joy at the unmistakable scent of Legolas' semen, registering the soothing warmth where it was smeared across his abdomen. He raised gleaming eyes filled with love and the delight of conquest to his mate's, and found such a look of happy contentment on Legolas' face that he felt proud and at the same time humbled, sure that nothing could touch this: a pure sensation, love's ultimate gift shared between them. Thinking this sobered him and he carefully withdrew, rearranging the elf's lanky frame so they could lie side by side.

"Legolas," he began and stopped, feeling his throat tighten around the words he would speak. He swallowed and the sensation conversely rose to his eyes, stinging them from the depths of his emotion. "Hervenn," he tried again, and kissed the elf. "Hervenn nín."

"Aragorn, Besnô," Legolas crooned, squirming to get closer, though it was impossible.

"Melethen. Valar, how did this happen?" The words emerged in wonder and woe mingled. Aragorn sniffed and buried his head against the archer's shoulder.

"What is wrong?" Legolas consoled him, not overly worried, for he thought he knew what Aragorn needed to say. Patiently he stroked the bowed head and strong back.

In time the man composed himself, a long breath in and out announcing his resolve, and he shifted to look upon the face he loved so dearly it was utter torment to acknowledge it. He took a small kiss and then another steadying breath, and looking into the indigo irises saw that his mate already knew. He smiled then, his worries vanishing, and gently stroked the fair cheek. "You've known all along."

"Aye."

"You will not ask what it is I think you know, so to hear me say the words?"

"I would hear any words you want to tell me. Speak, Besnô, I am listening."

"It is simply this, profoundly this: I love you, Legolas."

"Aye, I did know it. Now say you are not saddened to give your heart over to such a wreck and a ruin."

"Never and neither wreck not ruin do I behold here beside me. How can I feel sadness in the fullness of such joy? Whatever may come, our bond is a shield," he whispered and suddenly felt his heart expand with awe. "The bond of life over death." The words rang through him as he pronounced them and Aragorn felt the implications of that phrase begin to surface in his heart. "It is overwhelming, Melethen, too much…" His rising ardour was quelled with a soothing kiss and he calmed, wrapping arms around his mate in contented delight, and found the sapphire irises considering him brilliant and proud.

They laughed softly together, clung to one another fiercely, arms and legs entwined, foreheads touching, exchanging soft kisses and tender endearments. Soon the man wanted his mate again and Legolas was eager for another joining. Their coupling was quieter but infused with devoted adoration, elevated by the avowal of love given and received, and the intensity of their fulfilment was increased. After they recovered, they washed one another and then lay naked again on the thick mattress.

"Whatever happens, I will be at your side," Aragorn said seriously, and gently touched his mate's cheek. Legolas looked tired and he knew the archer needed sleep, not just reverie, for he had not truly slept since Rohan.

"I am glad," smiled Legolas. He reached for the comforting hand and kissed the palm, just as Aragorn had done earlier. "I feel like I know everything now," he said, vision drifting into hazy dream as weariness overcame him. His mother was waiting for him, vitally alive in those dreams, and he would go to her, tell her all about this unexpected joy.

"What do you know, Melethen?" Aragorn whispered; gently, adoringly amused as the elf became a bit disoriented. He bent and softly kissed the parted lips, pushed his tongue just inside and then retreated. The archer's lazily slid out to seek it, savouring the residue left behind on his lip before returning to its proper place behind the teeth; the man laughed and ran his forefinger through the wetness.

"Everything," sighed Legolas, blinking as his eyelids dropped lower and his sight turned inward. "All that life is made of: wonder and sorrow, fear and fury, happiness and horror, grief and shame, laughter, tears, pain and ecstasy, and now love. I knew love before, but I did not know what it is to love this way. It is the best, I think." He felt the whispery weight of a cotton blanket covering him and then the firm, familiar pressure of the man's heavy hand atop his hip. He was falling into slumber and struggled only a little. "Watch over me, Kalrô."

"Always, Legolas," whispered the man, his heart full, and pressed another kiss on the archer's forehead. Then he sang soft and low, an old song learned in the halls of Imladris, some ballad of true and tragic love, his voice filled with wonder for the strength and fragility of this remarkable person to whom he was bound. When he was done he kissed the still brow again and sighed, breathing back in the scent of the ellon's hair and skin, and carefully pulled Legolas closer to him.

He did not feel tired anymore, and with Legolas sleeping he found his thoughts turning over the events that had brought him here, wondering that he was in Greenwood, the younger son of Thranduil his mate, his mate under the doom of the King. So short a time had passed since taking leave of Ecthelion in Gondor, his intent to return in haste to Lothlorien, for there, he had once believed, dwelled the promise of a future so exalted he had scarcely dared imagine it.

In Lothlorien lived Arwen Undómiel, daughter of Elrond and the fair Evenstar of Imladris, a Lady of such beauty he had thought his heart smitten. Seeing her first in her father's gardens, serene and lovely and wise, he had thought her a dream or a vision and named her Tinúviel. Yet while his words and admiration plainly pleased her, she had turned him aside, saying he must not think of her, that he was too young and she too high above him. This, he saw now clearly, had spurred him to win her. He would prove himself, he had promised, and when next they met she would see him anew, a youth no longer but a man in full, and then she would think better of him and link her destiny with his.

Legolas stirred, a restless jerk of legs, a quick breath out, and Aragorn ran a soothing hand over his head and back, fingering the golden strands. "Sîdh, Im sí," he whispered. The elf looked up, eyes wide for an instant but unseeing, or seeing something other, and then he settled again, cheek against the man's navel. Aragorn let a rueful smile uplift his lips and stroked the flaxen mane again. "Valar, Legolas, what twist of fate is this? I have gained everything my heart could wish, yet what have I lost to earn it?"

How strange it had been, his own will so easily diverted. It was not a comforting thought and the man sighed, fighting the nagging doubts in vain. Was it that he had not known his own mind and heart? Or rather that his choosing had been negated in the exercise of another's design? So Legolas had spoken: 'I chose you, Kalrô.' Did the Wood Elf truly have powers to overrule an independent being and make of him a slave, however willing a slave he might become? As soon as he thought it, Aragorn knew that was not the truth, but he could not divine what the truth might then be.

"I love you; that is the only truth to which I can attest tonight," he whispered.

TBC


	14. Promise Fulfilled

Chapter Fourteen: Promise Fulfilled

For the second time on this journey, Aragorn came awake with the uncomfortable realisation that he was being watched and not by his mate. Jarred abruptly into awareness, he could not define what had roused him, the impression of a loud noise his only clue, but he immediately forgot about that as his head came up and his eyes flew open to find Elboron, Prince of Greenwood, seated cross-legged on the talan, one hand resting atop either knee, staring at him. There was a hint of mild amusement about the noble ellon's viridian eyes but the elf was not smiling.

Aragorn's next thought was for Legolas and the man found the archer beside him, rolling over and sitting up, shoving the unruly mass of golden hair out of his face, obviously only just emerged from sleep as well, though the sun was long past dawn. Aragorn was glad he'd remembered to cover Legolas with a blanket and grabbed it just in time to prevent an embarrassing exposure of their partial erections. They shared a quick glance filled with mutual relief, each pleased to find the other well and right where he'd been the night before, then focused on the patiently waiting Sindarin prince.

"What is amiss?" asked Legolas, peering through bleary, blinking eyes at his uncle.

"Maur Aur an golé" (Good Day to you both) said the King's brother and reached to a tray before him on which reposed a small, elegant tea service. He poured steaming brown brew into three ceramic cups the colour of bark, handed over two to the late risers, and sipped from the last. He peered at Aragorn but pointed with his raised cup at Legolas. "Not so pleasant on first awakening, that one. Puts off sleep till he's got no choice about it, always has, then sleeps so deep it is almost hibernation."

"Ai Valar, Elboron! Maur Aur an le," snapped Legolas irritably and set his cup aside with an exaggerated sigh. It was his uncle's joy to tease him thus but he detested it beyond all things. "Now, what is it?"

"Sîdh, I came to let you know the wizard has arrived," Elboron replied more seriously, watching as the man easily soothed the riled archer with a single glide of his hand down Legolas' back. Now he regretted his flippant remarks. He had only meant to treat with his nephew as was his wont in years past, thinking it would reassure him that things remained the same between them. He realised how foolish, nay, how insensitive that was; nothing would ever be the same for Legolas.

"Already? How is that possible?" Aragorn's brows rose in bewilderment. "Mithrandir took the longer route by far; I would not have thought to encounter him again for many days." He repeated his comforting caress and Legolas leaned against his touch, visibly relaxing.

It made Elboron smile to see it. This more than anything had convinced him there was nothing wrong with Legolas beyond the devastation of profound grief and guilt. His conduct during the battle, his demeanour afterward, the depth of his sorrow, and most of all the strength of the bond between him and his mate, all of this had convinced him. Elboron was supremely glad he would not be called upon to destroy Legolas, for he loved him as he did his own grandchildren. How could he face his brother again if that was the deed he must confess at the end of this affair?

"His mode of travel you can address with Mithrandir," suggested Elboron, swallowing his tea and setting his cup aside. "What a wizard may do is beyond my understanding, or, indeed, my interest." He reached over and tapped his nephew on the knee since the archer was studiously avoiding his eyes. "Legolas, forgive me; you are no longer a child and I should not goad you thus. You are angry, yet hear me: I am convinced you are incorrupt, but I must adhere to the forms of the law."

"You are?" Legolas chanced a swift peek at Elboron and found he was not unhappy with his uncle any more. The elder prince's eyes held compassion and admiration, and seeing this was not only surprising but encouraging. He sat up straighter. "And the others?"

"That I cannot judge," Elboron said, sharing a dour glance with Aragorn, "but there will be some supporters. Celon'lir, of course, but he is also expected to uphold his father's memory; he grieves for Doronarth."

"I lost him too," countered Legolas, suddenly feeling the loss of Doronarth keenly, though there were many years between them. They had been at least as close as he and Elboron. "He was my brother. I had nothing to do with his death."

"Aye, I know it," Elboron shook his head and again patted his nephew's knee. "What you learned about the attack may help Celon'lir come to terms with it. He is still set on war with Rohan and had we not received word of your rescue, he would likely have won the debate and secured an army. Many of Doronarth's kin are in favour, but they are still a minority among the people at large."

"That is good news," Aragorn inserted. "The people of Rohan are not devious and the one who was responsible will be made to pay, if he has not already."

"This is a tale that I would hear," Elboron announced, sharing a grim smile with the man, "yet it will have to wait. We've this ritual to conclude first. Afterward, mayhap there will be a time for adventure stories."

"It wasn't an adventure," snarled Legolas, glowering at his uncle. "What I've learned is important intelligence that bears upon the peace between two free nations who can little afford to turn against one another."

"Aye, I meant not to slight your experience, Legolas," Elboron assured. "Sîdh, I would have peace between us, muindorion. You know this is just my way as it has ever been. I am too old to change it now, so just accept that there is love behind it. Whatever I am bound to do, I will not shun you any longer. If my reticence has caused you pain, as I know it has, I regret it deeply, but I had no means to know for certain until seeing you, testing you."

Legolas made to answer but Aragorn cut him off. "Reticence is a gentle term for it, Ernil Elboron. I am not done being displeased over my mate's treatment here among his own people and expected better from the Wood Elves."

"I don't know why you would have any expectations one way or another, unless Legolas told you something of our customs, which he admits he did not."

"That is hardly an answer," Aragorn bristled.

"What would you?" Elboron offered another of his elaborate shrugs. "I have made my judgement and it is in his favour. If you think this was easy for me, or that I enjoyed treating my nephew as an outcast, you are mistaken."

"Enough, Kalrô. That is all the apology you will ever get from him. Ernil Elboron is never wrong." Legolas smiled, pleased to have his mate so stalwart in his defence.

"That is well," complained the man, addressing the prince again, "but I do not understand your sudden change of heart between yesterday and this morn. Legolas has not changed overnight."

"Kalrô" Legolas whispered, nudging him, cheeks red.

"Your confession was overheard by many," Elboron informed the man, smiling warmly, "myself among them. I am convinced the bond is true and that the feeling between you is an indication that this is the fate Eru intends for you both. That was as reassuring as Mithrandir's words, if not more so."

"Ah," Aragorn had forgotten the audience below, even as he'd predicted, but did not regret his avowal of love and tenderly pulled Legolas to him, an altogether proprietary action. "What of Gandalf's testimony?

"We shall all hear it, but he has already said enough for me. Before anything else he demanded to know where Legolas was for he is under his protection, it would seem, and he vouches for his spirit." Elboron smiled back at the man and rose. "Now ready yourselves for we need to be on our way. I let you sleep as long as I could, Legolas, and we will stop early again tonight."

"Will you send news to Ada?"

"Aye, as soon as…."

"As soon as you two dress yourselves and come down here."

Elboron's sentence was completed for him by the wizard's gruff voice below. The prince chuckled and rose to his feet. "That was not the answer I would give, but it will suffice. Have the tea and then come down." He calmly dropped over the edge of the talan, causing Aragorn to choke instead of swallow and reinforcing the man's conviction that the royal family definitely harboured a streak of lunacy in the bloodlines.

"All right, Kalrô?" Legolas rubbed his back.

"Aye. At least now I know your rash behaviour is inherited and need not wonder overly about it." He had meant to say worry, but thought better of admitting to Legolas he feared the archer was courting death.

"Rash? Nay, I am not so." Legolas threw off the covers and went searching for clothes, finding the fresh garments were indeed his own, and began dressing. "I am not the one who was standing up in a canoe brandishing a sword like a First-age hero, an easy mark for those foul beasts. That was rash."

"I agree, but Elboron practically dared me," shrugged Aragorn. He was content for the moment to watch his mate wriggling into the tight leather leggings.

"Ai Valar, do you always accept a fool's errand?" Legolas suddenly felt his mate's eyes upon him and took his time, making rather more of tucking in and tying up than perhaps was necessary.

"Would you have me branded craven?" Aragorn did not mind the exaggerated care the archer was taking.

"I would have you…" Legolas paused, a devilish glitter flashing through his eyes and a rakish grin upending his lips. A step carried him close enough to cradle the man's rugged face between his hands and bend low for a quick, loud buss on the lips. He released him roughly, observing with satisfaction Aragorn's suitably pleased and mildly stunned expression. "…alive and well," the elf finished smugly.

"Come here," Aragorn ordered and circled Legolas round the waist, pulled him into his lap, kissed him properly. He nuzzled the smooth cheek happily. There was no denying he enjoyed this flirtatious side of the Wood Elf's personality and was glad to encourage it. "I like to see you smile, Melethen. Your eyes shine like sapphires."

"You give me cause to smile," answered Legolas, beaming, arms loosely draped over his mate's shoulders. It occurred to him that the last time he'd sat in anyone's lap, he'd been a babe. He'd felt safe and secure then, loved, and he did now, but this was infinitely better. "You'd best hurry before Mithrandir loses patience." Yet Legolas made no move to rise, enjoying the sensation of the solid erection rising beneath him instead.

"I have already lost patience and will not hesitate to come up there myself if required," Mithrandir's disembodied voice threatened.

The lovers groaned and Legolas stood, offering a hand to Aragorn. "Sorry," he whispered. "Not going to be a comfortable climb down for you."

"No matter," sighed Aragorn, fumbling for his pants, enjoying the archer's attention as he struggled into them. "Elboron promised an early halt tonight." He buttoned up and then turned to help Legolas with his shirt, stealing kisses as he tied it shut. "Can you wait?" he whispered, "because if you can't, I'd as soon make them wait."

"Nay, do not tempt me!" laughed Legolas and gave the man a gentle shove. "Get dressed, Besnô; I would have this done. I need to see Ada."

Both hastened after that and were on the ground quickly, finding the wizard at the base of the tree, leaning on his staff and smiling. Elboron and Celon'lir stood with him. Not far away, Tuilelindô waited patiently beside the man's charger, the latter without his tack and gear, which were collected neatly near at hand. The sylvan warriors were ranged about in a loose semi-circle, all watching the couple with keen interest, some pleased, others guardedly so, some as yet blatantly suspicious, and a few of Doronarth's kin making no secret of their anger.

Legolas exhaled a short sigh; it seemed they thought he had not felt enough pain and begrudged him this one source of joy. He kept his displeasure hidden, however, thinking of the import of the ritual to come. Once completed, none could openly accuse him again, no matter what misgivings were hidden in their hearts. He felt Aragorn's hand at the small of his back and produced a smile for the wizard. "Mithrandir, I am glad your journey was so swift. Tuilelindô is a good guide, yes?" Legolas called his mare to him as he spoke.

"She is that. I saw no reason to delay once I knew you and Aragorn were safely across Anduin," replied the wizard, "and do not bother asking how I managed it. The secrets of Aman are not to be shared with those not of my Order, pen neth."

"I was not going to," complained Legolas. "My parents raised me with proper manners and good common sense."

"To that I also agree," smiled Mithrandir. He and Aragorn shared quiet nods of welcome and then the wizard suddenly held aloft his staff. "Lasto enni!" (Hear me!) he cried and all the elves started, becoming still and respectful as every eye trained upon him. "By the sacred oaths of my Order, the Istari of Aman, as a Servant of Eru and Emissary of Manwë, High King of the West, I declare Legolas free of any unclean power, in full possession of his soul and able to freely exercise the desires of his will and order the thoughts of his mind. Legolas has been cleansed and tested as none of you have, and I would take him even before the High Seat in Taniquetil. Let any who gainsay my oath announce his objections hear and now, else nevermore pass judgement upon Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Greenwood and mate of Aragorn of Imladris."

Silence followed this proclamation and challenge. No voice dared speak, yet though none could doubt the wizard, some yet held Legolas in suspicion. Twice more Mithrandir called out his testimony and twice more the woods returned the only answer, and the very commonplace nature of the sounds of the forest world were a second validation of the archer's integrity. The wind rustled the leaves, the birds sang, insects hummed, and everywhere the spirit of Tawar walked in proud, silent commendation of its youngest prince. After the third pronouncement, the wizard lowered his staff, resting it for a brief moment on Legolas' shoulder as though in benediction, and from the point of contact a bright spark gleamed, silver and white, a small bloom of the vital energy of his faerlim, and a collective gasp arose from every throat, even the archer's.

"Tawar nin beria!" (Tawar preserve us)!

"Man sen?" (What is this?)

"Phajak'lâ!" (Spirit-light)

The whispered words ran round the small company and many stepped back in fear and awe; a few fell on their knees. Man and elf shared surprised expressions, neither knowing what this might forebode, and both turned to the Istar for explanation. Elboron and Celon'lir exchanged amazed glances that clearly confirmed mutual recognition and the prince came forward to his nephew.

"I thought my eyes deceived me during the fight, but I see they did not. I saw a glimpse of this during battle, but did not know what it could mean, Legolas," he said, settling his hand carefully on the very shoulder from which the light had arisen. "None can doubt so potent a sign of the clarity of your spirit."

"It is true; I saw it too," affirmed Celon'lir, coming near but hesitating to touch his uncle. "Legolas used faerlim to fight our enemies. Who has ever done such before?"

"None that I recall," added Elboron. He paused as the warriors murmured agreement. Many had noticed the brief flickering flashes from Legolas' arrows, even in the full light of day during the battle on the river, but had not known how to judge such a sight, whether it was a sign of good or ill. Elboron was pleased; this was added proof he had not expected, and moved quickly to conclude the test of his nephew's soul. "Legolas, now is the time to produce that token."

He did not hesitate; indeed, he had already retrieved it from the mare's pack and held it up for all to see. Without a word, he handed it to Elboron that his uncle might attest its authenticity, dropping it in the elder prince's outstretched palm.

"It is her ring," Elboron said quietly. "There can be no doubt; the duty with which Legolas was charged, a task he undertook in love and devotion as much as sorrow and fury, is complete. Let us remember not this day and celebrate Ranak'lâ's life rather than her death. The Woodland Realm will rejoice and hold feast on her Begetting Day in one coronar. Kin and family may also hold feast on her day of bonding to Thranduil, should they so wish it, lest he bar it."

"And the promise?" asked Legolas.

"Aye, there is no reason to prohibit it, for you remain among us: First-born and a sylvan warrior. I will send tidings to my brother and leave it for him to judge the merit of your words. Such is already your doom," answered Elboron and quickly left the group to compose both the message and his countenance.

A rush of sighs ran through the crowd as the elves accepted this judgement; the strain and fear of not knowing over at last. Those who had been moved to want happiness for him called out to Legolas now and professed their support, words that were not lacking in warmth yet remained too few, for not all were comfortable with what he had done. Never before had they been forced to face the emissary of death, for such an elf always died in the process of completing his duty. Lingering fear remained, along with the nagging worry about others who had gone on similar missions. Had they died indeed? Had they completed their gruesome tasks?

Legolas did not notice any of this, for Celon'lir ran forward and embraced his uncle, overcome with guilt and sorrow both. "Muindor," he croaked, "gohennach nin."

"Aye," Legolas hugged him back, glad to have his kinsman returned to him, but sorry they would soon part, perhaps for many years. "You could not know how it would turn out. I am glad you escaped."

"Valar, Legolas," rasped Celon'lir. "It is not as you think. I didn't escape. I…I fled as soon as I saw them surround you. You must forgive me, muindor!"

"I have already done so," soothed Legolas. "Be at peace, for I would not have you dead and that is the only outcome your capture would have allowed. There has been enough death among our kin."

"Legolas, this will help keep it safe," Mithrandir said and when the elves broke from one another he held forth the golden band, suspended now on a sturdy mithril chain. Legolas came closer and the wizard draped it round his neck, tucking the token beneath his tunic. "There," Mithrandir announced, glad to have this unpleasant ritual concluded. Legolas smiled his thanks and returned to Celon'lir. The two walked a little apart, for Celon'lir had much he wished to say but his feelings were high and both wished for privacy to mend this breach.

Aragorn made to follow but the wizard held him back. "Let them talk a moment; Legolas needs all the friends he can get," he murmured quietly and pulled the man aside. When they had gone a few paces, he spoke again. "Well done, Dunádan. I knew your love could save him and was I not correct?"

"You said my love would cure him; never did you mention that my solemn profession of that love would be instrumental in clearing him of these abominable charges," hissed Aragorn, not done being angry with the Wood Elves for their shunning and ill-use of his mate.

"I could not," insisted Mithrandir. "It had to be completely spontaneous and entirely at a time of your choosing. Elves have extremely acute hearing and anything rehearsed would have seemed false to them."

Aragorn would say more and ask of other things still incomprehensible to him, but Elboron was calling for the elves to mount up, for in some mysterious fashion horses had been called and the area was filling with sturdy ponies. Legolas returned to him and helped him saddle Azrûbel. When all were astride their steeds, the elder prince called orders and the ranks formed, only now Legolas and Aragorn rode beside Elboron at the head of the column, Mithrandir and Celon'lir flanking them. There were many leagues to go, but little risk of battle and the horses trotted along to the sound of Legolas' sweet lament, many of his kin joining him for the chorus.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The Halls of the Woodland King were so well hidden that Aragorn had no idea they had reached them. He knew the fortress was beneath the earth, but he thought there was a mountain and a mighty river serving as a natural moat before it. He had heard much of the Great Gates and expected to see an elaborate and well-fortified wall in which these gates would reside, but errors in translation and subsequent exaggeration from those few who had actually seen these sights had worked their way into Aragorn's mind. Thus, he came to the heart of Greenwood the Great without realising it.

Three days riding had brought them without incident to a still green glade in the midst of the towering trunks of beeches, these trees so tall their tops soared away to dizzying, eye-defeating heights. Greenwood was not so dark and gloomy a place as the man had imagined it would be and he thought, after the second day, that this was a consequence of the long habitation of the sylvan elves. The sense of menace and of watching eyes had steadily diminished as they journeyed northward, replaced by a quiet, majestic presence: still, ancient, and venerable, and while the humour of this spirit was stern and forbidding to the man, there was about the atmosphere a feeling of familiarity and glad welcome for the band of warriors travelling its byways.

It is for Legolas most of all, this welcome. The forest has not rejected him.

The man was pleased to think this and could not help but believe it was one of the reasons his mate was so calm. Mithrandir had satisfied all doubt as to the integrity of the archer's spirit and Legolas had produced the proof required. Elboron had publicly granted his forgiveness while Celon'lir had openly wept and pleaded forgiveness himself for doubting his uncle. One or two others had come forward and embraced Legolas, but most had refrained, still leery of him, a kin-slayer, though none had spoken that word.

Now, Legolas was quiet and circumspect, his brash and bold façade discarded, but he was no longer fearful, either. He had sung each day, obviously songs of mourning, and alone with Aragorn in the night he shed tears. Their love-making was intense and almost desperate, Legolas more aggressive, more demanding, as though he was trying to store up light. By day, he seemed prepared to fulfil his promise and resigned to whatever his fate would be. That it would include leaving Greenwood was inevitable, and the man understood this was not because the archer had bound over his life to Aragorn's. His affinity for the forest was unmistakable and no small part of his sorrow involved this pending separation. At every break given the horses, he vanished into the branches. Legolas immersed himself in the Great Wood, imprinting every tree, perhaps every leaf, upon his heart so never to forget.

Aragorn could not say for certain when they had crossed into Thranduil's realm for their was no visible boundary until they reached the unsightly gash of the Forest Road, a narrow, overgrown, unkempt, and rain-riven track. He had thought this was the barrier and remarked on its poor state of repair, but Legolas corrected him, saying they had been in his father's lands for many leagues gone by. The road, he said, was not of the Wood Elves' making or their liking, and they hoped it would eventually fall to disuse.

The man let that remark go unanswered and reflected on the blurred outlines of Thranduil's realm. He had noticed the air becoming sweeter the further they journeyed from the river; sweeter both to the lungs and to the ears, for it was filled with the voices of elves, indistinct and muffled as though very far away, singing amid the boughs and branches. Sometimes he caught the notes of lutes and piping flutes accompanying the omnipresent song. It soothed Legolas and the mood of the company eased considerably as well. Yet, the change had been so gradual he hadn't realised it until the understated chatter and commotion of abundant wild life increased, also.

He stared in amazement at colourful and exotic birds such as he had never seen with long sweeping tails, delicate and elaborate crests, and calls that were sometimes more raucous than rhapsodic. He saw the fabled black squirrels, their fur velvety and thick like a panther's might be, and a curious creature that dropped right before his face, using its long tail as a fifth limb, swinging from a branch upside down to peer at him curiously, not a hint of fear in its huge, bright eyes. One plopped down atop Legolas' shoulder, gripping his hair with tiny, fingered hands while leaning out its small, wet snout to sniff at the man. When Legolas spoke to it, it gave a strange cry and leaped into the limbs above.

"What manner of animal is that?" Aragorn asked, laughing as he watched a whole troop of them following the entourage in the canopy.

"Phaja Glada (Laughing Spirit) or Hent-en-Tawar (Eyes of Tawar). There are two kinds: one shy and one bold, one active by day and the other by night. They do not have voices, but they have been awake a long time, longer than the elves, and know many things. They are valued allies," answered Legolas, smiling. He motioned to the limbs above. "These are Phaja Glada. I kept one as a pet when I was a child."

"Did you?" Aragorn chuckled, imagining this, seeing Legolas as a child and wondering if he favoured his father or mother more. He did not ask, though he had discovered that Legolas wanted, nay, needed to talk about and remember his mother as she had been before the days in the Tower. It was almost as if the ellon called her into being at these times, whole and resplendent, sanctifying her life and robbing death of any victory over her, but the man feared Legolas was in denial about his role in her demise and did not want to encourage such a break with reality.

"Aye, I was ten summers old when I found her in her nest all alone, crying so pitifully; a spider must have got her mother, so I brought her home." Legolas spun his tale. "Nana said I was the mother now and had me teach her how to be Phaja Glada. Fortunately, Yavanna made it so these clever beasts are born knowing what to do and I did not have to show her how to make a nest or what fruit to eat, which insects to hunt, how to call to others of her kind, or how to use that tail like another hand. She grew up and went away one day to make a family of her own, but she comes to visit every now and again, like today."

"That was the one, the one on your shoulder just now?" Aragorn laughed, glancing up in the branches, but he could not distinguish this single animal among the throng of them running the limbs. "By the stars, they are long-lived creatures."

"Yes, that was she. They do live on for centuries and if you watch them long enough you see that they take care of the aged ones among them, treating them with distinction. They are like small, furry humans in that."

"What? Legolas, those animals are not at all like humans."

"Perhaps. Small furry humans with tails might be more accurate."

"Ai Valar, I will not even answer that," laughed the man, exceedingly pleased to hear his mate making jokes, even if they were demeaning to mankind. "Did you give your pet a name?"

"Nay, Nana said it was not the way among their kind to have names."

He fell silent and it was only then Aragorn realised everything around them had grown still as he spoke, as though the Spirit of the Great Wood wanted to hear the story and honour Greenwood's Queen.

It was soon after that the company reached the clearing. Now the horses were dispersed throughout the meadow, dozing in pairs posed head to tail or snatching at the grass, necks stretched low, devouring hunks of the lush emerald blades, a rare commodity in Greenwood where sunlit meadows were scarce beneath the nearly impenetrable network of leaves and limbs. The pastoral glade was bordered by a murmuring brook, a rushing freshet noisily bounding over a deep, rugged channel strewn with sizeable boulders and a fallen tree trunk, the water racing down the slope over which the meadow ranged and on around a distant bend where the terrain dipped sharply. A more thunderous roar could be heard in the distance, but the sturdy woodland steeds paid no attention, relaxing after the long trek through the trees.

The Wood Elves likewise took their rest, scattered in small groups throughout the meadow, some lounging stretched out on the ground, lost in reverie, others sitting cross-legged tending to their weapons as they conversed. One ellon sang a soulful song, a reverent hymn to Tawar. A few perched on the steep banks of the stream, legs dangling over, while many waded in the tumbling flow, laughing as they played at catching fish, barefoot, leggings rolled up round their knees, these wild and wary sylvans. They had arrived here at mid-morning and Elboron elected to camp, deciding to wait here until an escort arrived from the King's stronghold, for the contingent of elves about them had still the duty of the watch on the woods and could not desert their posts.

Aragorn found the implications disturbing, for he'd thought all distrust would vanish once the wizard vouched for Legolas, but the archer shrugged off his protest. It was the law; he was still under his father's doom and so an armed escort would take him in. A formality, Mithrandir assured. He, Aragorn, and Legolas were among those by the brook, seated apart from the others a little, responding to that subtle sense of uneasiness issuing form the combined auras of the warriors. Aragorn and the wizard smoked, crafting luxuriant rings and figures which drifted up and wafted away, while Legolas leaned against the man's back, head resting on his shoulder. His eyes were on the clear sky above, watching the drifting clouds, voice softly extolling the majesty of the Great Wood. His heart was in the song, for he had thought never to see home again.

Legolas was pleased to have this time of waiting, free of discussions, questions, plans, and contingencies. He smiled; Aragorn had plotted out a sound campaign to see them safely through the days ahead, debating the various points with Mithrandir, Elboron, and Celon'lir, the four of them conferring like generals preparing for battle. Legolas refrained from participation, allowing his mate to determine whatever course he deemed best, realising, as Elboron surely must have done, that there was little to be done; events must follow the forms established long ago, even before the Sindar came to Greenwood. Yet Aragorn needed to feel he could control the situation and provide the protection he had promised, though everyone, including the man, knew it to be a ruse.

A serene peace had come over Legolas after Aragorn spoke from the depth of the bond, professing love freely without prompting or query of any kind. The sensation of quiet exuberance remained and became like a shield around him, a barrier through which the anger and scorn of his people could not penetrate. 'Our bond is a shield.' the man had said, awe, joy, pride, and wonder in his voice, love shining in his eyes. It was true and the archer smiled, remembering the expression on Aragorn's face, a look of humbling realisation, for he knew in that moment, and not until that moment, that the benefit was his. Legolas stood between him and any harm that might threaten his life, his future, his fate. He had begun to treat his mate with an almost reverent appreciation and Legolas permitted this; it was his due.

Calm and contented though he was, there had been times during the days past when he had considered reneging on the promise. It was his mother's dying wish and she had secured its fulfilment by tying it to her forgiveness, but Legolas was afraid delivering her message would be like stabbing his father in the heart. As it stood, the King believed what everyone else did: that his mate's soul would have fled from her body as the vile creatures raped her. To know she had been present through all the torments of the past two years, unable to escape, unable to die, this might be the one burden Thranduil could not bear. Legolas loved his father as much as he did his naneth. How could he be the instigator of such pain? If Thranduil spiralled into grief and faded, his death would be on Legolas' conscience as well. The archer wasn't sure he could endure that without going mad.

His song faltered and he sighed, falling silent as he shifted against the strong back supporting him, sustaining his body just as the Ranger's noble heart upheld his spirit.

"All right, Hervenn?" asked Aragorn, peering over his shoulder. He reached back awkwardly and touched the golden hair in a light caress.

"Aye." Another heavy sigh emerged.

"How much further until we reach the stronghold?"

"We are almost there. Just around the bend, there, are the gates and the bridge over the river. We'll arrive tomorrow."

"Will your father be among this escort Elboron expects?" Mithrandir asked. He was as much in the dark over the customs of the Wood Elves as Aragorn.

"No, I don't think so," said Legolas quietly. "Elboron would have told me."

Aragorn heard the tension underlying the elf's words and shifted, easing his body around so he sat beside Legolas, arm around his shoulders. "Walk with me, Melethen," he said and stood, pulling Legolas up, too.

They clasped hands and wandered off down the stream a ways, Aragorn warily watching the Wood Elves watch them. He no longer believed they would harm his mate physically, but he did not want to be followed, either, and he scowled darkly at any eye that chanced to meet his. He knew this was no deterrent in itself, but he was counting on Elboron's warning to hold, and it did. The couple paused once he could no longer see the elves playing in the brook.

Immediately Legolas leaned in and kissed Aragorn. "Besnô," the husky whisper was barely audible and he pressed his forehead against the man's. "I have something to ask of you."

"You do?" Things were not going as Aragorn had planned; he was the one with questions. "What is it, Melethen?"

"It is against the custom, but I am anxious to see my father. Come with me; I can get us into the stronghold unseen."

"What?" the man's brows rose. "You want to sneak in?" He did not want to run into any warriors who might be overly zealous in enforcing these bizarre laws, especially when he did not understand exactly what the laws entailed.

"Aye. I am to wait for the escort and they will take me to my father, but I just do not want to tell him what I must in the presence of armed guards with arrows aimed at my heart."

"Arrows…!" Aragorn gripped the elf's biceps tight. "Legolas, tell me exactly what is going to happen here, please."

"It is because I was in the Tower, in case I am consumed by evil or inhabited by the unhoused feä of an elf tortured to death and enslaved to darkness. This is one way to make Orcs, though it is time consuming and has limited success. The Wraiths found an easier way." This last he spoke with bitter hatred.

"Beloved, everyone can see you are no Orc and Mithrandir already vouched for you."

"Aye, but there is still fear. Mithrandir is new; these laws are very old. There are ancient stories about captured elves, no different in appearance than before, returning home to murder their families and kin, set fires in the woods, shoot warriors on patrol with them."

"Elbereth! I had no idea this was possible."

"So they will keep me surrounded and I will not be able to get close to him. I cannot fulfil this promise separated by a ring of armed archers. It is cruel enough without that."

"Is it even possible to sneak into the stronghold?" Aragorn asked uneasily. He was disinclined to think so, for he knew Legolas' capacity for stealth and this was an entire country of Wood Elves.

"Aye, for I know a way most do not."

"Surely Elboron knows."

"He does, and expects me to try," Legolas mused.

"Then this plan is doomed to fail. Melethen, let us simply go to Elboron and ask him…"

"I already have, remember?" The man's perplexed expression was answer enough. "After the crossing I spoke of the promise and he made it clear he won't make any exceptions under the law. Indeed, he cannot diverge from them; it is his duty to his brother but also to the woodland people."

"Since then, Mithrandir has testified that your spirit is pristine," argued Aragorn. "Elboron may reconsider."

"Pristine," Legolas smiled and stroked the bearded cheek, closed the distance between them and kissed him. "That is beautiful, Besnô. Thank you."

"You are most welcome," said the man, taking a quick kiss back. "Now let us go speak with your uncle and see if we can arrange this meeting to your liking without forcing him to defy custom. A lesser number of guards, perhaps, or even just he and Celon'lir could…"

"It would be futile. Try to understand his position, Kalrô; he is charged with this despicable duty, nearly as horrible as the one with which I was charged, for if he deems me corrupt then he must kill me outright, and he will not hesitate to do it. Asking him to relax the laws is tantamount to admitting that very corruption, for if I am truly incorrupt then I understand all the necessity of this. I would have forced him to slay me at that moment. I could never put anyone in those circumstances, Aragorn." Legolas had to stop, overwhelmed with the horror of his own deeds. He crowded close and hid hid face against the man's chest.

"Ai, Melethen," Aragorn cried softly, gently petting the bowed head as he pulled Legolas tight against his heart, struck speechless. His young mate, with all the burdens he already bore, carried this one, too. He didn't want to compel his uncle to endure the guilt and remorse of slaying someone he loved.

"So you see, I think he wants me to slip away without his knowledge," Legolas eventually managed to continue. "If I am caught, he won't have to be the one."

"Oh, Legolas," Aragorn did not know what to say to this, but suddenly he understood what he must do. "My place is beside you. As I have promised from the start, I will stand between you and harm. If you need to see your father alone, so be it. How do we get there?"

"It is not so bad as slithering through the swamps at Gladden," said Legolas, pulling back with a tear-bright smile, "but we are going to have to get wet."

Aragorn shrugged, grinning. "That only means I'll have need to warm you later, yes?"

Legolas snorted at this attempt at amorous humour but appreciated it nonetheless. He disengaged from the comforting proximity to his mate's solid strength and grabbed his hand, tugging; they broke into a run, hastening away from the elves, following the river. The banks grew less steep and the river more sluggish as they progressed upstream, for they were on the southern side of the gently sloping plateau within which the King's stronghold had been delved. Legolas pointed to the flow and they slipped into the water, careful not to splash, and waded into the main channel. In no time they were swimming against the steady current and reached the northern bank without difficulty, for the stream was not broad like Anduin.

"Quickly now," whispered Legolas, though there was no one in sight, and took the man's hand again. They crouched low and squelched through a slough of reeds and mud, and beyond this low spot the ground began a steady uplift, resulting in the bed of the river sinking deeper and deeper until only their heads would be higher than the banks, had they stood upright. Soon, they could do so without fear of being spotted and Legolas again broke into a run. By the time Aragorn was puffing for breath, the ground had become rocky and the way slick, the water noisy and churning, casting spray over them. The roar became steadily louder and ahead the man could see a waterfall spilling a frothy cascade onto the stoney land and Legolas halted, pulling the man down to crouch behind the cover of overhanging brush.

"From here on, we may encounter guards in the tunnel, though it is unlikely. Keep your sword sheathed at all times, even if we are ordered at arrow-point to stop. Let me handle them and…"

"And watch you get shot?" Aragorn's tone indicated how little he thought of this idea. "No, from this point forward, I lead. The Wood Elves will not kill me without cause and if we're stopped, I'll talk us out of it."

"Talk? What kind of talk can stop arrows?" Legolas scoffed.

"I'll say I am a messenger from Eriador, or something," Aragorn waved away his mate's protests, "doesn't matter. The point is, if they see you first, they'll shoot first and worry about my presence later. If I lead, they will be too surprised, seeing a man inside the King's defences, to react immediately. That gives us the advantage."

Legolas stared, sceptical. "Advantage."

"Yes, now tell me where we're going," urged Aragorn, but he could guess, staring at the fluid curtain.

"Beyond the falls is a tunnel, a secret way of escape my father designed when he had this place carved. It leads to an alcove just outside his study but it is a treacherous path, filled with rushing water at this level. Once we descend to the caverns, there is a vast, deep lake, still and silent, which we must circumvent. The only way to do so is using the outcrops of hanging stones overhead. Among them are uncounted places for archers to hide, so if the way is guarded then that is where we'll be caught."

"Sounds impossible," complained the man. "Why isn't there a boat for crossing this lake?"

"Because the idea is to keep intruders out, Aragorn, not make it easy for them to get in," snickered Legolas. "Once on the other side of the lake, the path is easier and dry. At the terminus, we'll be in full view of anyone walking through the corridors at that moment. Could be warriors, servants, my Ada's counsellors, anyone, but if we can get into the study I am certain we'll be safe, for my father will be there."

"What happens then?" Aragorn asked, the first time he had dared question his mate about the King's possible reactions.

"I'll do what I came here to do," Legolas said evasively, breaking his gaze from his mate's. "Come, Elboron and Mithrandir can postpone discovery of our exodus only so long."

There was no point in delaying longer and he dutifully stood aside to let Aragorn lead, waiting until the man was on the move before fisting the dagger he'd stolen from Celon'lir and hidden in his boot. If it came to it, he would take life again before permitting Aragorn to be killed.

It occurred to the man that if there were archers behind the pouring cascade, he was an open target, but then felt immediately better for an elf would have spotted him already. Since he was not dead, they must be alone here. He picked up the pace and tugged Legolas through the drenching flood into the boulder strewn mouth of the tunnel's outlet, stepping down suddenly into knee-deep water as the path dropped. He gave a startled exclamation and stumbled, splashing to a boulder and bruising his shins in the process. Legolas kept him upright and they shared grim displeasure as they moved on, climbing over and around the rocks.

The cave narrowed to a crevice, continuously dropping, then became little more than a narrow chute wide enough to go single file, but at least it was tall enough to stand almost upright. It was dark and Aragorn wished he had a torch, navigating by touch and the faint gleam of his mate's faerlim, his sense of time and space distorted by the omnipresent noise of running water. Its level rose and fell but was never more than waist deep, though the current was strong and plucked at them, trying to sweep them in quickly. The man fought against this and they moved forward one faltering step at a time, struggling for balance, and he was glad for the light weight of Legolas' hand on his shoulder. Then the path began to expand again, becoming wider and smoother, signs carved on the rock walls, and the water curled and boiled furiously about their ankles. They pressed on.

Gradually, the unmistakable sound of another cataract arose and grew steadily more thunderous in the enclosed space, until at length they came to a place where the entire passage was filled with water, a spraying torrent funnelling through a narrow crack in one wall, gushing across the opening and splashing everywhere before disappearing in a frothing frenzy through another gap which could not even be detected through the water's foment. Beyond this they must pass, and did so, but not without being thrown against the opposite wall by the force of the deluge. They teetered on a slickened ledge of stone feeling the cold, wet air of a yawning abyss only inches from their feet.

They edged past and paused for a moment, relieved to have survived. The water under foot was only inches deep now and trickled away down the tunnel's sloping floor, an inky, black trace glimmering with silvery shards of light where the rolling surface caught and reflected the elf's glow.

"That was the worst of it," said Legolas, his words echoing around them. "Now there is only the lake."

"Good, I can't wait," Aragorn chuckled darkly. "Valar, I see now why there are no guards on this side of the tunnel."

"Who goes there?"

The query sprang at them suddenly from the tunnel's black depths, spoken in hesitant and bewildered tones. Man and elf jumped in surprise, shared a glance, and then Legolas pushed in front.

"It is I, Legolas of Greenwood and my mate, Aragorn of Arnor," answered the archer, his own voice trembling with anxious expectation. There was a short silence in which his breathing was audible.

"Legolas?" The word came at them in reverberating waves filled with confused overtones of hope and dread.

"Ada!" Legolas caught his breath and leaped into motion, running blindly down the lightless passage.

"Wait!" the man splashed after him, terrified something horrible might be about to transpire and came to an abrupt halt before he'd travelled more than a few metres.

There in the narrow passage stood Legolas and Thranduil, their elvish light combining to give the scene a hazy, golden caste, ethereal and ghostly. They were locked in a tight embrace, both mumbling pleas for forgiveness and testaments of sorrowful regret. The man stepped forward and his foot trod upon something hard and metallic; he knelt and hefted the knife his mate had been holding, tucking it into his belt with a sad smile. He was the one in front, but is was Legolas who would have detected any threat first and had armed himself, thus to defend his mate. Now the man drew near, but remained enough apart to give them a chance to deal with the misery in which they were mired, and he could no longer entertain the notion that Thranduil had no feeling for his last child.

In the mystical glimmer of faerlim, Aragorn took the opportunity to formulate his first impressions of the monarch. The two elves were nearly the same height, but he could see that the Elven King was broad and robust, thick of limb and sturdy, much like Elboron: Sindarin in size and bulk. In contrast, his son was lithe and light and slender, the epitome of a woodland elf, made for racing through the trees and wielding the bow, disappearing amid the bolls and branches. Yet they shared the flaxen shade of their lengthy manes and the man guessed they would have the same eye colour, too. He smiled, realising how rare a chance this was, to see them both so unguarded, hearts so completely revealed, and he knew now he had nothing to fear from this mighty ruler. Whatever laws might exist in Greenwood, Legolas was more in danger of being squeezed to death than anything else. Time passed and father and son drew apart and wiped their eyes and runny noses, smiling mournfully.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Thranduil said, struggling not to give in to fresh tears.

"I thought the same," sniffed Legolas.

Their speech faltered, for what lay between them was a void of unthinkable horrors, sickening and ugly, dark and twisted.

"Ada, I have a promise I must keep."

"Nay, nay! Say no more. Not here, Iondo (son)." Thranduil held his child at the biceps and clearly did not want to release him, not even with his eyes, but he was aware of the other person in the tunnel with them and not deaf to Legolas' words announcing him. He turned glittering eyes on the man and appraised him carefully, noting with approval the bold stance, the respectful distance, the ready hand resting on the hilt of a mighty sword. An expression half-grimace, half-smile graced Thranduil's face. He met his child's eyes again. "Your mate, Legolas?"

"Aye, Ada, this is Aragorn son of Arathorn." Legolas held tight to his father, feeling him start at the import of this name, and they shared another long look of sad resignation.

The man realised this was his cue to come forward and he did, taking two steps before dropping to his knees in the water before the King. Never in any mental vision of this moment had he thought his first meeting with Legolas' father would be in a cold, wet cave with water from an underground stream swirling round his legs. "Mae govannen, Aran Thranduil. I beg leave to plead my suit, for though it is unjust for a mere mortal man to claim the love of one of the First-born, Legolas and I share the bond of life over death." It was exactly the right thing to say, being more or less what Legolas had instructed the man to say.

"No suit need be pleaded," said Thranduil, sighing, and bent to raise the man up. "The bond of life over death is indisputable, especially given the circumstances. Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Now enough talk; there is still a long passage to navigate and I have a feeling there will be a pursuit, though a slow one." He turned, keeping hold of his son's hand, and led the way.

"Ah yes," grumbled Aragorn. "The underground lake of unfathomable depth over which one must scramble via rooted teeth of stone. I hope it does not require too much acrobatic leaping and lunging to cross it."

The King paused, shared a look with his son, and gazed back at the man, lips twitching with the preamble of a grin. "I brought a boat," he said drily and beside him Legolas snorted out a laugh.

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

The rest of the journey was uninteresting to the man. The wonders of the subterranean sea and its caverns failed to capture his attention, for he was more concerned about what was to come. Time seemed both fast and slow as one minute he wished to hurry this pivotal event's conclusion and the next wanted to delay until he was certain Legolas was strong enough to endure it. What would happen if he had another break in reason here? Would Thranduil doubt the integrity of his son's soul? What would trigger it?

Thranduil's anger, or more still his grief.

Yet his doubts could not destroy his hope nor his relief to see Legolas so at ease with his father. Thranduil seemed as reluctant to hear the news his son carried as Legolas was to deliver it, and the man felt keenly that both were stalling. Legolas sang as they paddled, melancholy and low, and Thranduil joined him, but Aragorn abstained, feeling there was more being exchanged between father and son than the words of the hymn. He could feel them comforting one another, the energy of the song bridging their hearts, blurring the boundary between faerlim, rendering a soft and golden nimbus about them. Dream-like, he thought it, ethereal; in such a manner must the elves appear when crossing to Aman. He prayed Legolas would find peace at the end of this journey.

In due course they came to the shore and landed the boat. Walking took them through more tunnels to a door, finely crafted of heavy oak, hinged with thick brass hasps and fitted so well into the opening it barred that not even a hint of light showed round its edges. Thranduil lifted the latch and pushed it open and the brilliance on the other side was nearly blinding after the near pitch of the tunnel. Aragorn shielded his eyes as he went through, blinking to acclimate himself, and when he could see he was astounded.

He was standing in a corridor as fine as any in Elrond's home, high and rounded and broad enough for two abreast, carpeted with plush woven rugs, the walls panelled with a veneer of wood to hide the stone, and lamps at regular intervals. The only thing it did not have was windows, but the monotony of the walls was relieved with paintings and tapestries. While he peered at this unexpected splendour, Thranduil scrutinised him just as thoroughly.

"You have known loss, have you not, Aragorn? Yet you did not sing with us. Why? Here is something that unites all the people of Arda: love and pining for those lost to us."

"Aye, Aranen, yet a mortal's voice cannot hope to match the beauty of elvish song," stammered Aragorn, stunned by the King's insight.

"There is beauty of many kinds in Arda," the King shrugged. "Who did you lose?"

"Ada! Don't pry; he may not want…"

"Nay, it is not prying," Aragorn interrupted Legolas' scolding words. "I lost my father, but I was so young I do not recall either the time of his death or the time before when he was with us."

"Then you have been robbed of your father twice," said Thranduil, completing his inspection of the man who now held his son's life in his hands. "Once by Shadow and once by the shortness of a child's memory."

"That is true," said Aragorn, who had thought this in his own heart but never spoke it to anyone. He glanced quickly at Legolas and found him watching his father with intense concentration, but could not tell if this line of inquiry was cause for worry or not.

"We must talk of the strange fate that brought you to my son," continued the King, setting one hand on the man's shoulder and the other on his child's. He nodded, expression serious but neither unkind nor foreboding. "You do look like Elendil somewhat; the lineage holds true. Know that I will not contest Legolas' choice, not is it one I dislike personally, save for one reason alone. That you can guess. But come, and welcome to my home, for we are here." He crossed the plush corridor and opened the door into his private apartment, bidding them enter.

Legolas did so, releasing a long sigh, and then the man knew he had indeed been passed through an evaluation of grave import, successfully. The archer reached for Aragorn's hand and presented him for an instant that brilliant smile; sapphire bliss.

The man squeezed, grinning, as always swept up in the glory of that smile. He had time to gather impressions of a study filled sparsely with simply but well made furnishings: a great desk of oak, cluttered with papers and little bits of junk, which on closer inspection proved to be numerous dried flowers, leaves, desiccated insects, chiefly butterflies, crudely painted pictures, carefully copied alphabet letters and short messages, every one of which said 'I love you, Ada'. Aragorn realised these must be gifts made and given to the King by his children when they were very small. In a short, painful tightening of his chest, he suddenly felt envious of Legolas and Doronarth, resenting that double loss more keenly than he had in many a year. It dissolved almost instantly, though, for he could not doubt Thranduil would forgive his son. No sooner had he thought the words than the King spoke.

"I know what you would tell me," he addressed Legolas. "You think I cannot know it, but I do. Still, you have made a vow to tell me and to give into my hands the proof that Ranak'lâ is truly dead." He held out his hand, palm side up, and waited.

Slowly Legolas reached inside his shirt and drew forward a mithril chain worn round his neck. From it the small golden circlet winked in the lamplight. He took it from the chain and with shaking fingers placed it in his father's hand, retracted his arm and let it fall to his side. They stood staring at that small lovely thing, such a simple article of jewellery that held so many hearts, so many fates bound within it. In unison father and son exhaled the same sigh of weighty sorrow, met identical grief-torn faces above that ring. Thranduil's fist closed around it and he reached for Legolas, clasping him at the shoulder and guiding him to a group of chairs. They seemed to have forgot the man and sat across from each other, leaning over the space between them until their foreheads were touching, Thranduil's hand still held firm and steady to his son.

"Now say the words."

"I would have you cast back the net of conscious awareness into the flowing currents and ever-deepening ocean of memories the long years have given us," Legolas said without need for more of a preamble than a sustaining breath. "Draw up from these swirling depths a day, Melethron melui nín, a single and singular day. It was a day green and golden and we were alone, rare enough, and though the day was so fair and sweet you were filled with discontent, frowning and petulant, your eyes so deep a blue they nearly became purple."

With a shock Aragorn realised Legolas was reciting, verbatim, the message from his mother to Thranduil.

"Nay, I was not petulant," complained Thranduil with a soft laugh, "But tell me more for I cannot see yet which day this is you want to relive."

Now Aragorn caught his breath in a sharp, audible gasp, frozen in consternation, for it was equally clear Thranduil was responding as if to his dead wife-mate.

"Yes, I understand, for there were so many petulant days," snickered Legolas from his mother's heart. "This one was different. We had already a wondrous family, a fine strong son, two magnificent daughters, numberless grandchildren through countless generations of all three of our offspring. Every spring brought at least one child born of our house. Still, when I asked you the source of your gloom, you answered that you missed 'little feet running and small voices calling for Ada.' Now do you remember?"

"Oh! Ranak'lâ, that day? Oh trees and roots, I remember it."

"What words do you recall, Melethen?"

"I said someone was missing only I couldn't name who," replied Thranduil, voice high and strained now, for he was weeping. "Every time I counted them in my mind, I knew someone was missing but I couldn't see who it was. Just a long swath of gleaming golden hair and then laughter, melodious, singing laughter, a challenge and a cry of joy both."

"Yes, that is what you told me. And once you bared your soul thus, I could see it in you clearly, this lost one, and the missing child was no mystery to me at all. 'Melethen,' said I, 'it is for yourself you seek, and through your child-time, behind that, your father. I cannot give him back to you; it is not for me to say when or how he returns mi-srawanwe. (incarnate) I will give you instead your child-self back to love and protect and nourish and grow. He will be beautiful, as are you, and strong, as are you, and he will look upon you with your own eyes.' That is what I promised you, Melethen, and now I understand the wisdom in your petulant longing, for none other could comfort you in this time than he, our last child."

Thranduil released a long, high pitched keening wail, a noise Aragorn had heard only once before from the First-born, from Legolas, and his heart quailed. Father and son sat rigid, locked in this macabre re-enactment, and the man had the sickening realisation that both knew Ranak'lâ more intimately than one of them should. He balked at this, revolted. Perhaps, to compensate for the raw and ugly pain of this knowing, Legolas' mother had imparted to him some measure of her mind, her spirit, and rather than the archer reciting, she spoke through him. That made it easier for the man to watch; there were some levels of sharing he would rather not know, and that same horror must fill both the King and his child. Instantly Aragorn was made ashamed of his reaction, for his watching it was nothing next to their living it.

"Rejoice," Legolas went on, and now his voice wavered, too, saturated with sorrow, "for this child you so desired that you named him the day he was made has done for you and for me a service far greater than that which we did in giving him life. He has freed me; I suffer no more, Thranduil nín, Aran-en-inden." (My Thranduil, King of my heart.) Legolas faltered a moment for Thranduil was howling and clutched him close, near crushing him with the ferocity of his tremendous grief, saying over and over:

"No, oh no, I didn't know; no, I did not want him for that, not for that, Ranak'lâ, not for that."

"I know it, Ada," Legolas cried softly and tried to comfort his father. "Be at peace, it had to be."

Aragorn released a mighty breath and heaved in several lungfuls of air, swiping at his eyes, but refused to turn away, painful though this was, feeling it his duty to stand by and bear witness to this event, silent advocate for his mate in case he must act and save him as he'd promised, and in truth it was a relief to hear Legolas speak as himself and know he was not lost in madness.

"Go on, iondo; I am all right," Thranduil's hoarse, sob-choked entreaty rent the air. They were composed, after a fashion, the wrenching moment passed, and sat as before, less desperate but more miserable, slumped against one another in the lassitude of sorrow.

"In that wretched Tower are things no person should ever know much less endure. Of the nature and origin of our dire enemies, we all pretend stubbornly to be ignorant, but our spirits are sick with the knowing even while our minds deny it. We cannot deny it today, Melethen, for the sake of our last child's very life.

"Here I was brought to be brood mother to generations of them: twisted, misshapen perversions of children. Here I was put in the harem with others of our people. In the harem I found my sister, lost so long ago, supposedly freed by her mate. It has been almost an Age, Melethen, that she has been there, one of the first captured, still alive, still producing for them two babes a year, always twins. She is bred back to her own sons as soon as they reach maturity. All the offspring are male without exceptions. Of orc females I saw only those who had once been elves, none Tower-born."

As one, Thranduil and Aragorn gave vent to ill-breath, and the man staggered to a chair and sat, unable to stand.

"No! Was she aware?" The King's hushed words were fraught with fear.

"Aye, that myth of the departing feä is necessary for all days but this one. It is the males they capture whose souls are devoured; our females, once soulless, cannot reproduce, so the spirit is left intact by means of sorcery. Anyway, I killed her and the spawn in her as soon as they put us together."

Thranduil groaned, then turned aside and retched on the carpets, for he understood at last.

"This was to be my fate, the fate the Dark Lord desired from the beginning when first he planted that vile spire and killed my Atu in so doing, for I swore revenge on him because of it. Did I not harry him in his filthy den? Aye, and he never forgot that it was my voice that urged the wizard to take up this cause before his White Council and run the Necromancer out. From this indecent life our child has delivered me, and from that same life Mithrandir delivered him.

"They meant to use him, Melethen. After he killed me, their wrath was great and first they were going to destroy him in the usual manner, but then they decided he would be my replacement. They would use his seed in hopes of getting female orcs. We have been too successful, it would seem, in defending our ladies from capture. Even with sorcery of the most compelling kind, most females perish after a few hundred years, and thus more are needed."

This time it was Aragorn who vomited, understanding why his mate had been left partially whole, his power to reproduce not negated utterly but only halved.

"Legolas! Legolas! Ai, Elbereth!" cried Thranduil and rose, gathered his child from the chair and sat with him clutched close, holding him carefully and tenderly in his lap. "I am sorry, so sorry. Please forgive me, iondo."

"I am not the one whose mate was murdered," answered Legolas. "Listen!" and he went on, determined to say the last, for here were words to render it bearable. "I placed upon him a heavy burden and bade him bring you these my last spoken words. As payment, I promised him forgiveness and as soon as the final syllable is said he has it. More he needs: most of all to receive from you the same. Thranduil Melethen, forgive him and do not let this ending between me and thee become a rift between your heart and the heart of the child you wanted so much that you named him the day he was made.

"Named thus because he was yourself again," suddenly the two spoke together, Thranduil echoing words he knew well, and completed the sentence, "just as a dormant tree comes to bud again in spring, so your soul was rejuvenated the instant you got him." Legolas continued alone, head buried against his father's neck. "And these are words that tell of things known only to the two of us, and now to him, that you may believe him. I am free forever and when the spring comes new again for the elves, then I, too, shall be reborn, and walk beside you in the woods of green leaves."

"Forgiven, iondo, forgiven," moaned Thranduil, pained to have to say the words, for Legolas had not done anything but what he was forced to do, and this to his naneth, and for this he ought to be the one demanding restitution.

Legolas sighed and shifted, melting against his father, face pressed into the crook of his neck, spent and too filled with sorrow and joy so that he could neither weep nor smile. He held onto his father, and Thranduil held tight to him. He heaved a sad, soft breath and spoke:

"Now I am free."

The words fell upon their hearts like a stone in a pool, heavy and sinking, drowning hope in the spirits of those who heard them, for it was apparent to all three that this was the one thing Legolas would never be.

TBC

NOTE: Only the epilogue left now. Hope this was satisfactory for everyone. We will have a happy ending for all despite the solemn ending here. Just not wanting anyone to think it is instantly all better now. Still, Thranduil's love and Aragorn's love combined are sure to do wonders for the suffering Wood Elf. And I could not resist adding in some very long-lived lemurs for Mirkwood.


	15. Rites and Rituals

Chapter Fifteen: Rites and Rituals

"Let us give them some time alone now."

Elboron's hushed voice made Aragorn jump to his feet, so engrossed in the scene he had not heard anyone enter the room. He turned and saw Mithrandir, too, and felt the prince take hold of his arm. With a last glance at his mate, the man permitted himself to be led from the room into a side chamber, a formal parlour meant for entertaining guests, and here he was more or less pushed into an armchair and given a small cup of some restorative liquor.

He drank it automatically in a single swallow, thinking it would be Miruvor, and regretted it for several seconds thereafter, gagging on the strong, bitter drink. Mithrandir thumped him on the back as Elboron dragged a chair closer and sat, not as close as Thranduil and Legolas, but nearly so. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands loosely clasped between them, and peered at the man.

"As I am to be muindor-en-gwaedh to you, it is time we learned of one another. You have questions," he said.

"Ai Valar. Questions!" Aragorn barked out a harsh, sardonic laugh. Then he sighed. "Yes, Elboron, I have questions. Does this soul-rending tableau conclude the ritual of death? Is Legolas free to go with me or must we fight our way from here?"

"What nonsense," tutted Mithrandir, frowning.

"It is a ritual we were forced to design. Tell us another remedy and we will readily adopt it," admonished Elboron, but he was indulgent rather than angry. Aragorn was only a man; no matter his affinity for elves he could never really absorb the true horror of the Tower's secrets. Thus, his reactions centred on the consequences to his mate. And rightly so. Legolas chose well. "All this was established long before Oropher came over Hithaeglir to settle here. There are some things beyond enlightenment, for enlightenment only indicates a harsher solution rather than a more merciful one.

"For Legolas, it is almost over. There is a formal and public ceremony in which Thranduil will decree mercy. He will most likely announce your bond with Legolas and give his blessing to it at that time. You will be offered some post in the stronghold, but it is a courtesy, a position of title and honour rather than duty and work; you must accept, but none would expect you to take a seat in court. One thing I must make clear: no matter how much we love Legolas, he cannot stay here now. Even if he did not have you, still he must…"

"So much I have learned already," Aragorn interrupted, on his feet, steaming to hear this, "and it pleases me not at all."

"You do not mean to have your mate at your side?" queried Elboron calmly, glad to give the man this outlet for his rage and frustration. Aragorn wanted to ease Legolas' woe and knew he was powerless to do it. For his part, Elboron felt profound sympathy and respect for the mortal.

"You know that is not the issue here," Aragorn hissed, raising a pointing hand at the prince. "Mercy and banishment for her heroes, is that the way of it in Greenwood?"

"Aragorn, hear him out," snapped Mithrandir. "This is what is best for Legolas, not what the law requires."

"Mithrandir is correct," nodded Elboron, reaching for the man's wrist and pulling him down again. "The people are beset by much strife and adversity. The Wood Elves were always a superstitious lot anyway and mingling with the Sindar has served rather to make the resultant hybrid just as distrustful and suspicious. Most of the people will shun Legolas, for he has slain his own and this will never wholly be forgiven nor forgotten, though time will soften its impact and strengthen his own ability to overlook it."

"He shouldn't have to…"

"Nay, Aragorn." He shook his head sternly at the man's sputtered exclamation and talked over him."Wishing it were otherwise is fine, but does not help Legolas at all. I am not saying he may never return; indeed, that would break his father's heart and cause my nephew more hurt. I am telling you there needs to be a lengthy interval between his visits, and while Greenwood will always be his homeland, it is no longer his home."

"Elboron, do you know how it will wound him to be told this?" Aragorn pleaded. "There must be another way. Hasn't he lost enough without losing the home he loves, too?"

"He has not lost his home, Aragorn," Elboron insisted, his eyes burning bright with an intensity that could not be ignored, as if he hoped to infuse the man's thoughts with his own. "You must see it; Legolas' home is wherever you and he are, together. This is the way for mated elves, especially when the bond is one of life over death."

Aragorn sat in speechless astonishment, for this was a beautiful sentiment for the prince to express, and now the man began to feel Elboron would become as a brother in truth. He relaxed and allowed himself a sad, subdued smile. "I thank you. That will take some of the burden from him, then, and from me."

"Aye," Elboron smiled warmly. "I am more thankful to you than you can know, Aragorn. These have been the worst years of my life, save only the years of war and grief at the end of the last age when so many dear to me were lost. Perhaps that strife made us all draw closer to those remaining. For Thranduil to lose Legolas, for the child to lose his father after the other losses: this would destroy them both. For me to be the one who would have to kill the young one…Ah! Perhaps it would be more than I could bear, too.

"Without the line of Oropher to rule, what would become of this beleaguered land? The elves would be killed or scattered, and Greenwood would be no more, replaced forever by the dire darkness of Mirkwood. So, Aragorn son of Arathorn, you have salvaged all that remains of the noble Sindar of old and preserved the most ancient and long-lived of all elven realms." He smiled broadly, gave the man a sound slap on the thigh and sat back. "Now, are you prepared for what you must do when the bond is announced?"

"I …yes. That is, what is expected?" Aragorn did not know what to make of Elboron, slipping from serious discourse to rather jocular commentary in the space of a breath, but this had been his dilemma since first meeting the elf. He flickered a glance at Mithrandir, but the wizard seemed completely at ease with the peculiar mannerisms of these volatile Wood Elves.

"Well, surely you know there is more to it than just taking him to your bed," Elboron goaded cheekily, a sly grin on his aristocratic countenance.

"What say you?" Aragorn was back on his feet, fists clenched and face red. "That was not my intent at all. In my home, it is not acceptable for a mortal man to claim one of the First-born for even the best of reasons. I have only the most exalted reason, and thus have espoused your nephew for my own. Yet, I resisted and it was his doing, his choice, and he would not let me go. Whatever must be done to make this an honourable union, that is my intent."

Through this tirade Elboron sat impassively, unconcerned about the man's bruised conscience, for it was to test this very aspect of his character that he had spoken so contentiously. Now he shook his head, not entirely pleased with the response. "There is no dishonour here to correct," he said, "except that which your thoughts have conjured. Legolas made his choice; this we can all accept, many of us with joy. Still, your words tell me you are not convinced of your degree of choice in the matter. Do you imagine Legolas has ensnared your heart without your consent?"

The question shocked Aragorn, for he had thought it not so many days ago and arrived at no satisfactory answer then. He sat slowly, the heat lifting from his cheeks until he was pale, grey eyes haunted. He swallowed, glanced at Mithrandir, licked dry lips, stared at his hands. "The Sindarin princes of Greenwood are astute," he began, raising a troubled visage to Elboron, but feared to go on.

"I am you muindor-en-gwaeth. Speak, Aragorn. This is usually the father's task, to query daer (groom), but Thranduil and Legolas are in agony and we cannot let them have this burden also, can we? When Thranduil asks you the questions, your replies must be firm and free of doubt."

"Aye," the man agreed. He drew a deep breath and decided to trust this strange and capricious elf. "I felt drawn to him, that is true, for he is beautiful and brave, loyal and true-hearted, and he saved my life at great cost to his own. Legolas nearly died and even so grave a wound did not stop him from giving of his light to restore me."

"Ah, you fear this giving and receiving of light is what bound you to him?"

"Aye, that is what I think," Aragorn ground the words out, for he felt they were hard ones both to speak and to hear and he dreaded the prince's response. "Legolas has referred to it many times."

"So, you believe your love was bought," Elboron nodded. He had known this already, but needed to hear Aragorn admit it. He smiled and shrugged with elegant nonchalance. "This is not a dishonourable means of securing a mate among our people."

"What?" Aragorn stared agape.

"Oh, please dispense with all this shocked moral rectitude, Aragorn," growled Mithrandir, a scowl of supreme distaste contorting his features. "Most marriages are arranged for a reason beyond the common ones of lust and procreation, or even love."

"A man needs to have free use of his will in such an undertaking," insisted Aragorn.

"So that is the crux of it," Elboron laughed with high good humour. "Your pride is wounded to have been conquered instead of being the conquerer."

"No, it isn't so," denied the man.

"Isn't it?" barked Mithrandir.

"I believe I can relieve your worries," soothed Elboron. "You were brought up to believe a certain thing is a sinful abuse and now you have broken this tenet of your people. Among the Noldorin elves, we heard this tale of woe long ago: that union with a mortal ensures only eternal suffering in the Halls of Mandos for the elf so entangled, gripped with grieving sickness never to be healed and reborn. It has been circulating since the First Age when human-kind and the Noldor both arrived among us. Do you not know it is all lies? No elf need die from grief. Look around you, echil. In Greenwood there is more grief than you can find should you search through all the nooks and crannies of Imladris and Lindon together.

"Has Thranduil faded? Have I? Did you cross the river to meet a defeated people, hiding and cringing in the shade of the trees? Nay, you were met by mighty warriors, diligent, strong, and noble. Legolas will lose you someday and he will grieve. Dear as you are to him, do you believe his suffering then will equal the misery he endures now? He lives and he will continue to do so long after your spirit departs this world."

Aragorn sat up straight, eyes wide, for this was logical and gave him new hope. Indeed, he could see the truth of Elboron's lecture. Neither Elrond nor any of his family had faded with the passing of Elros. Celebrian had not faded after the torment of her capture, nor had her parents, her husband, or her children perished over her ill-fate. A frown creased his brow. "Then why was I told thus?"

"Noldorin pride. Arrogance. They do not want to 'dilute' their superior bloodlines with a mortal strain. We of the trees know it is no diminishment. Did we not thrive under the reign of Beren and Luthien? Did we love Dior less because of his mortal heritage?" He leaned closer and peered into the man's grey eyes. "Does Galadriel scorn her law-son because of his link to that human lineage?"

"No, she does not," Aragorn answered strongly and a smile overtook his features as the burden lifted from his soul. "I have been plagued by this guilt, that I would cause my beloved to mourn and fade. I turned that guilt against him, not with malice or by intention, but it happened nonetheless, all because I could not own it. I was too ashamed to admit the truth."

"What is that truth, Aragorn?"

The voice was not Elboron's and everyone turned to find Thranduil filling the doorway, haggard visage showing a hint of hope, eyes eagerly seeking to delve the man's soul as he awaited the answer. Behind him, Legolas peered over his father's shoulder, expression calm and reassuring, filled with encouragement. Aragorn stood.

"The truth," he said, beaming at the archer, speaking only to him, the room's other occupants forgotten, "is that I chose you that first night, secretly, hiding it even from myself. The truth is that I wanted you for my own even if it meant you would perish with me when I die."

A soft sigh filled the room, the collective exhalation of glad hearts and relieved minds, and Legolas pushed past his father and leaped at his mate. Aragorn caught him.

"Knowing this, how then could I not give you my light, Kalrô?" whispered Legolas, arms wrapped tight about the man's neck.

"You knew it?"

"I knew."

"Hervenn," Aragorn whispered in wonder, and kissed him.

 

There followed a succession of days filled with urgency and excitement, all the elves of Thranduil's household rushing about madly to prepare for this great public pronouncement, though everyone knew the King's verdict already. It was also known that there was to be a bonding ceremony in conjunction with it and this was the source of the frenzied effort to prepare. Such a commotion of cleaning, decorating, rehearsing, arguing over appropriate clothing for Legolas, the food to serve at the feast afterward, and the number of citizens invited into the throne room to witness the event Aragorn had never imagined.

He felt rather lost and forgotten amid all this hubbub, and found himself thinking that he wished his mother could be there to see this, or at least Lord Elrond. He wondered what the Twins would think of his fate, and whether Halbarad would be shocked or congratulatory. A man did not usually join his soul to another without his kin at hand to witness the happy event. When he asked leave to send word, he discovered that the Wood Elves had no messengers prepared to make so daunting a journey, and he was referred back to the wizard. Mithrandir had methods that Elrond could receive and interpret, but Gilraen and the Rangers were too far to be reached in this manner, even if they possessed the gift of far-speaking, which no mortal did. Aragorn had to content himself that Elrond would send his sons to Fornost with the news.

Seeing his melancholy, Legolas suspected the cause. "I would like to meet her in truth," he said one morn as they stole a moment alone in a little-used storage room Legolas was wont to hide in as a child hoping to elude his lessons and chores. "Do you think Lady Gilraen will approve of the mate you have chosen?"

He lay belly-down, sprawled over Aragorn's torso, head lifting and falling with the man's every breath, the two of them naked and spent in a nest of cushions and quilts and discarded clothes. Languidly his fingers ran through the dark track of hair trailing down the man's abdomen. If his touch grazed lower and fondled the lax equipment resting in the inky thatch of pubic hair, he felt he could not be blamed for it was too great a temptation to resist. He palmed the weighty sac and grinned when Aragorn groaned and shifted, thighs twitching and parting wider.

"Melethen, I am not exactly comfortable discussing my mother under these circumstances," he said, but smiled when the elf checked to make sure he hadn't offended. "Such maternal references tend to create conflicts between what your actions make me want to do and what your words would have me say."

"I would hear your answer," Legolas said seriously and stopped his teasing for a time. "Will she welcome me?"

The man's eyes opened in surprise, for he heard real concern in his mate's tone and saw plainly the worry in his eyes. He reached to stroke the high, smooth cheek. "Aye, Legolas, she will welcome you with joy," he promised.

"You are certain of it?"

"Whatever gives me happiness, this is the only desire of her heart."

"Will we go to her first when we leave here?"

"Do you wish it?"

"Aye. I promised to tell her of all your rude behaviour, remember? I want to see her box your ears." The archer was grinning now and did not protest when he was lightly slapped on the rump.

"Impudent elf," growled the man. He kneaded the supple flesh beneath his palm and burrowed into the seductive crease, probing the sticky opening he had already fucked, finding the idea of his seed oozing from that hole excited him. He wormed a finger in and caught his breath at the hot, slick sensation.

Legolas wriggled and then clenched the powerful muscles tight about the invading fingers as though to force them back out. "Do you want me?" he whispered and darted his tongue out to lick the rim of the man's navel; wide, blue eyes peering up in feigned innocence. His hand migrated back to the thickening cock and shook it, pulling a bit to enhance the erection.

"I do. Are you trying to deny me my right to claim my mate when and where I will?" Aragorn extracted his fingers and landed a louder smack on the ripe, round rear.

"I would deny you nothing," sighed Legolas and rolled to his feet. He planted one slender foot on either side of the man's waist and struck a stance of bold defiance, red and rigid shaft bobbing forward as it filled. "Nothing you can claim, that is. Otherwise, it is considered polite to ask."

"Oh, we are back to manners, are we?"

"Aye, and yours are atrocious."

"How so?"

"Many, many ways. You might, for example, ask me to sit."

Aragorn's eyes blazed and he came to full arousal in seconds. Pulse pounding, heart racing, he licked his lips and cleared his throat. "Have a seat, Melethen."

Legolas did, impaling himself with a shuddering moan on the engorged organ waiting for him. Aragorn's hands came to support him at the hips but he had little need of the help, squatting as the man thrust up with urgent, frantic motion; thick, golden mane bouncing about them in the frenzy of their passion. He rode the man relentlessly, falling hard upon him and crying out with every impact, lost to the sensation of Aragorn's cock filling him, piercing him, striking his core with unerring accuracy. When the swordsman's calloused hand took hold of his shaft, Legolas gave in and let the ecstasy of their union transport him, aware of the hot spurt of Aragorn's semen that soothed these final jarring thrusts. When he was capable of rational thought again, he found himself cradled in the man's arms.

"So then," Aragorn managed between puffing breaths, smiling as he smoothed away an errant lock of hair from the elf's face. "Was that courteous enough for you?"

"Nay," grinned Legolas. "You did not say please."

Aragorn could not help but laugh, but he realised what Legolas was doing and his heart swelled, for no matter the depth of his own sorrow, the archer would spare his mate even the least discontent. "Valar, Legolas, I love you more than life." The words brought such a jubilant light to the sapphire eyes that they became a daily refrain.

Thus the archer buoyed the Ranger's flagging spirits and did not fail to seek him out as often as possible, leading his love away to one secluded spot after another. Their encounters were not always so amorous and it was equally common for them to simply hold one another in quiet contentment or sit side by side in the treetops telling each other tales from the years before they met. They shared Legolas' quarters in the stronghold and none disturbed them during Ithil's hours out of respect for the mortal's need for sleep.

On first introduction to the apartment, the man found it as fresh and clean as if Legolas had never been absent, and this affirmed his approbation of Thranduil: the King had never given up hope. The rooms were luxuriously furnished and Legolas made no reference to this splendour, obviously so accustomed to it that he never noticed it, and once more Aragorn worried about the life into which he was taking this fair prince of the First-born. He thought of Imladris and whether he could station his mate there while he was out patrolling the wilds, but knew neither he nor Legolas could bear to be parted. He had not broached the topic with Legolas, but learned his concerns were not something to which the archer was immune.

Legolas, true to Elboron's prediction, was the one who truly needed sleep, having endured two years' worth of torture, and did so, long and late into the day, as though gathering up strength and accumulating rest he might never have again. Aragorn had thus come to expect to be the first awake and had taken upon himself the task of securing a morning meal from the kitchens which he and his mate enjoyed privately in their bedchamber. One day a week or so after their arrival, he was surprised to arise in an empty bed.

The door stood open and from the sitting room came voices: Legolas' and someone he recognised as a cousin on his father's side, but could not recall the ellon's name, for it seemed there were hundreds of cousins, nephews, and nieces spanning many generations. This elf was not much older than Legolas, the archer had told him, and then Aragorn found out this meant the cousin had in fact lived almost a thousand years longer. The two were discussing that very topic which had begun to plague the man. Though he should not have done, he lay abed and listened, for he was the focus of conversation.

"He's a mortal and not only that but hasn't even a home, Legolas. You are going to become like the Avari, roaming as the weather shifts, following the trail of game and watering holes."

"Aragorn is a man, true enough, and a man with noble lineage. He has a home and it is in Gondor."

"What? He says to everyone that asks that he is a Ranger bound for Fornost in Eriador."

"Of course. Those, too, are his people and he must go out among them and secure their loyalty and support. Yet Aragorn will not remain always there in the wilds, serving as protector to the lost realm of Arnor and its scattered populace. Someday he will rule from Minas Tirith."

"Truly? You believe your mate is going to march into Gondor and ask of Ecthelion the sceptre of the Kings of Old?" At this the cousin laughed and Aragorn frowned to hear his mocking jeers, but he was not the only one displeased.

"I see nothing amusing about it," Legolas replied with icy wrath in his voice. "The inheritance is his to claim and doing so will not be easy, but neither must it go unclaimed. Middle-earth has need of Aragorn."

"I think it is you who has need of a pretty dream of a noble and glorious life to be taken up at some distant future, so to make your immediate future of hardship and dearth endurable and your ultimate future of grief and loss less horrendous."

That was too much for Aragorn, for now the elf was mocking his mate, and he sprang from bed, snatched a robe about him, and stormed into the sitting room. "If that were true, then shame be upon you for saying it," he admonished harshly. "Such unkind words ought not issue from friends and family. Are you one of those whose jealousy of Legolas makes you gloat over his leave-taking from the home he loves and the comforts of his princely station? Speak, for if it is so then I must insist you go from our chambers and leave us in peace, lest I be forced to challenge you for abusing my mate's…"

"Ai! Sîdh! Sîdh! I am not counted among that hateful lot," insisted the ellon, hands raised in supplication, not so eager to have this challenge issued and find himself facing Aragorn's champion in a duel of honour. "Legolas, he is right. My words were unnecessarily petty, please forgive me."

"Aye, it is forgotten, Turumâ." Legolas clasped arms with his kinsman and escorted him to the exit. "I will meet you later for the hunt." Once the door was closed on his friend he turned to Aragorn, contrite and apologetic. "I am sorry you had to hear that, Kalrô. Most of my people know little of men and nothing of the greater world beyond the woods. Greenwood is all the world for them." He ignored the cousin's allusion to the finite measure of their union.

"I am not sorry," announced Aragorn, doing the same, for so they had promised one another on the plains of Rohan. Instead, he looked Legolas over with pleased amusement. The archer was clad as was he, in a robe of blue silk and nothing more, his golden hair loose about him, tangled and mussed from their amorous activity in the dark hours, hastily snatched behind those enchantingly pointed ears. Aragorn came to full arousal quickly and could not help but notice the same condition overtaking his mate.

"Your answer was a compliment to me and I would rather know how these kinfolk of yours really feel about our bond. Everyone is very polite but their disapproval is evident nonetheless." He watched the ellon move toward him, raising a brow at the deliberately, seductively predatory manner in which Legolas neared and then circled him. He decided a change in roles was indicated and made a sudden lunge for the elf.

Legolas giggled, leaping high out of reach and making a bold and successful grab at Aragorn's robe, which he whisked away and carted off as he raced for the bedroom. The man shouted a startled exclamation and gave chase, tackling the elf beside the small settee near the fire grate. Quickly he divested Legolas of the robe and wasted no time lavishing caresses and kisses upon the lithe body, but then abruptly rolled him over and mounted him at once, thrusting hard and fast so to bring them both to pleasure before some servant or steward came knocking at the door to inform them of the schedule for the day. Aragorn loved it, dominating the elf this way, a mix of playfulness and forceful mastery, and Legolas relished submitting to him.

Once spent, Aragorn gathered his mate close and stood, carrying him on to the bathing chamber where there was a pool of water that remained always hot and mineral rich. They soaked and rested and then coupled with luxuriant sloth, delaying release as they enjoyed teasing and tempting each other, tasting and caressing and kissing, touching and toying and stimulating until there was no holding back and both came suddenly and explosively from relief as much as erotic pleasure. After that, they rested and relaxed, washing one another, and Aragorn took up the topic dropped along with his robe.

"Are you disappointed?"

"What? How can you ask that when I have just contributed to the contents of this pool?" laughed Legolas, settling between Aragorn's thighs as though he was a chair, resting against the man's chest with a contented sigh as he lounged in the water.

"Nay, you know I didn't mean that," chided Aragorn. "I was referring to the rugged life we are facing out in Eriador. There is much comfort here in your father's stronghold."

"Ai, Aragorn!" Legolas sat up and moved so to look his mate in the eyes, disappointment plain in his. "Did you think I was some pampered courtier, strutting about in velvet robes and holding fêtes in the glade?"

"Well, no, not exactly that, but…"

"After seeing me fight so many times you doubt my value to this country? I am a warrior, Aragorn, and no stranger to hardship."

"Forgive me, Melethen, it was not your skill I doubted but your age. I thought…"

"That I was a spoiled favoured son, kept at home and out of danger," spat Legolas, standing and striding about in the pool, furious. Water sloshed everywhere and he stepped over the man's outstretched legs three times in his confined, stomping circuits. Then he stopped and faced Aragorn, arms folded over his chest and a frown contracting his brows. "Well, you're right. Ada would not let me join the southern patrols," he admitted testily, "but that was not my choice and we fought over it almost daily, and most bitterly."

"Elbereth, Legolas, I did not mean to touch so sore a nerve," Aragorn rose and unlocked those rigid arms, pulled his mate in for a soft kiss. "I didn't know the two of you were at odds so often." Indeed, from the man's perspective father and son were almost inseparable, and he had not grudged them their time together, knowing a long separation was imminent. Now, he recalled the reason Legolas had not gone with the disastrous trading party. The elf relaxed against him and they sat side by side, hands clasped. A long sigh escaped the archer and he let his eyes drift shut.

"I believe what I said to Turumâ," he said quietly. "You are not so much Isildur's heir as Elendil's, and the day will come when that destiny calls you from the wilds. On that day, I will be with you, Aragorn."

There was such conviction in his voice that Aragorn was visited by an immediate sensation of the weight of that destiny. A vision of the White City passed through his mind's eye, the walls gleaming and pennants streaming from every pinnacle, the banner that of his esteemed forebears: seven silver stars above one white tree. A shiver ran through him and he looked to find Legolas studying him. "You see this as reality? Have you the gift of sight?"

"I don't know," said Legolas. "I see it and it seems so real I might stand and step into the shadow of myself residing there at your side. If that is foresight, then I have it. What I truly think is that I see what Mithrandir saw in the Mirror, and these scenes transferred to me when he wrought his spells to cleanse me."

This seemed plausible to the man but before he could comment, the long dreaded knocking began, followed by Galion's entry into the bedchamber where he stood just outside the bathing room and called in to them. Legolas had another fitting with a tailor and Aragorn was needed in Aran Thranduil's study, post haste, as both of them were overdue.

The couple left their relaxing spa with reluctant grumbling, but Aragorn carried their conversation with him, finding the idea not so outlandish after all. This was the very future he had seen for himself and the cause for which he'd left the service of Ecthelion, save for a single, crucial difference. If he succeeded in this endeavour the elf had so staunchly proposed, then he would become a king among his people with all the duties that entailed, including providing heirs for the inheritance upon his death. Legolas could not give him those heirs.

They both must have been thinking of it, for a gloomy pall dropped over them as they readied themselves for the day, and neither spoke. At last they were clothed and must part and then Legolas sighed and went to his mate, snuggling in against the man's heart, appeased by the strong arms that closed round him.

"We promised each other not to dwell on the sorrows bound up in our love, remember?"

"Aye, I remember. So be it; we will let it alone for now and follow the course on which I was set before," Aragorn answered. They parted after another kiss and Legolas went down one corridor, the man following Galion through a labyrinthine course to Thranduil's chambers.

"The King has been waiting a long time, Hîr Aragorn," informed Galion with a vague note of disapproving censure in his tone.

"In truth?" the man was surprised at this, for the meeting was meant for after the morning meal and neither he nor Legolas had taken time to eat as yet.

"Aye, he has been at his wits end dealing with his younger son and the animosity between them was coming close to undermining that genuine love and regard in which they spent so many happy years. Legolas grew up, but Thranduil could not see it," the august steward lectured. "It was the Queen's belief that their son needed a mate and then he would become less contentious, more willing to have patience with his father's requests. Thranduil was, prior to this tragedy, attempting to find such a person."

"Really?" Now Aragorn was shocked indeed, so much so that he came to a halt. "Who is my rival, then?"

"There is none," assured Galion, smiling as he waited for the man to join him. They resumed their walk. "Legolas was as furious about that effort, perhaps more, as others the King had previously devised in hopes of diverting his single-minded insistence on serving in the southern patrols."

"I see," Aragorn was relieved to know there was no grieving suitor watching him with secret enmity, counting the years until he should die and Legolas be free. That thought jarred him severely, for he hadn't considered whether or not Legolas would desire another bond after his passing, and he faltered again. The ancient servant eyed him quizzically and he resumed motion, but spoke no more. In due time they arrived at Thranduil's rooms and Galion announced him, but did not leave them, instead busying himself in the study while Aragorn joined the King at his morning meal.

"Maur Aur, Aragorn," he said, smiling through the weight of his grief and the man was struck by the similarity this expression bore to Legolas'. "Please sit and accept my apologies for taking you from my son so early. I know it is your custom to break fast privately together, but the days grow short and we have yet to talk."

"Aye, Aranen, it is no hardship. There will be many mornings ahead with Legolas," answered Aragorn.

"Many, yet ultimately too few," sighed Thranduil.

"That is also a concern that haunts me," nodded Aragorn. "He has suffered greatly and additional sorrow is not something I would have in his future."

"Suffering is the lot of all free people in Middle-earth now, I fear," said Thranduil. "There is remedy for the kind of sorrow you mention, for I perceive you speak of that day when at last your spirit flees the bounds of Arda and takes its place in the proper home Eru designed for the Second-born."

"There is?" Aragorn was wary, for he had already experienced the King's keen insight and was not so sure he wished to hear this.

"Of course. Legolas needs to find someone to whom he can form a deep friendship, a closeness second only to that with you. This person will step in at the end and give his riven spirit succour. He will not fade, I promise you that."

"Ah, well, I am glad to know it," Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, for he was not, and a flick of a glance at Thranduil proved he was not fooled. The man decided truth was the only option before so wise and wily an elf. "Nay, I am jealous already, even knowing I won't be there when this person takes my place. I love Legolas; he is mine."

"Well said and I would expect nothing less from the one who would claim my son's heart," nodded Thranduil, his smile bittersweet. "Bury your hurt, for Legolas will never betray you, even when remaining constant must wound him deeply."

"Nay," Aragorn exclaimed, "I will not give him cause to regret his choice, Aranen; this I promise."

"I did not say he would regret, Aragorn." Thranduil studied the man and could see the fear of this thing hiding in his heart. He hesitated, wondering if he should leave it be and let the couple face the issue privately. Yet, a father's heart is hard to overcome, and he must ease his child's burden if he could. "Let me be direct," he said with crisp determination and held the pale grey eyes captive. "You have a destiny to fulfil and Legolas will see that you do. When you are crowned in Gondor, how will the people view this mate you have taken for your own? A King must have heirs and the folk of Gondor will want their King to wed a mortal woman of high station to get them."

"King Thranduil," Aragorn stammered, pale and astounded to find himself quaking. He opened his mouth, shut it, swallowed, tried to break from that compelling stare, failed, drew a harsh breath. "Aranen, I…I do not know what to say."

"Is there truth in my words?"

It was long seconds, the passing of many thundering beats of his agonised heart before the man could manage to utter a single syllable: "Aye."

"Good, that obstacle is passed," sighed Thranduil and reached out to pat the man's hand kindly. "It is hard to own truth and my esteem for you rises steadily due to your willingness to do so, Aragorn. Now, what is to be done?"

"Valar!" Aragorn stood suddenly and turned from the table, clutched at his hair as he strode the room. He paced to the grate and stood staring into the empty hearth at a surface already swept free of ash and coals from the morning fire. A lingering heat and the acrid scent of coal reached his nostrils. He did not like this, discussing how to answer the needs of a realm not yet won. "It is too cruel, this fate. If I had kinsman who could provide me their sons, then it would answer."

"Are there none left, then?"

"A few," the man nodded slowly, seeing Denethor in his mind and instantly rejecting the man. Yet, perhaps he would marry well and the union produce a suitable son. He sighed. "It is too soon to know, but that would seem to be the only option." He glanced back at the King and Thranduil shook his head grimly.

"Not the only option."

"The only one acceptable to me."

"It is to your credit to say it, but I must tell you a truth you may not have realised. Once you become King, what is acceptable to you becomes secondary to that which serves your Kingdom best. The will of the people cannot be ignored, or if you do it is to the detriment of the whole populace, for a divided Kingdom must fall."

"I say I will not bow to any will, no matter if it is the collective design of every soul in Gondor and Arnor, that asks of me such a thing. I would not take a wife, and that is what you are suggesting."

"Again, it is a testament to your love and commitment to Legolas that you say this, and as his father I am gratified to know he is so fully cherished," assured the King. He rose and joined the man, took his elbow and steered him to the settee, sat them both down. "Believe me, I am not discussing so painful a subject out of delight. Yet I fear you have not considered all the realities ahead and it is necessary you do so now before they are faced and the moment demands your answer."

"I appreciate that, but would rather not cloud my mind with these worrisome ideas while the future containing them is so distant, and, indeed, may never come to pass."

"Do you not think Legolas deserves to have a mate as exalted as the High King of Gondor would be?"

"Ai! Of course I do, but…"

"Good! That is not less than he deserves and I will tell you frankly he has already confided much of this to me, that he means to see you on the throne of Gondor or die in the attempt."

"He told you that?"

"Aye, in so many words. I am trying to explain to you the nature of your mate's heart, Aragorn, so that you may appreciate the depth of that love he bears for you."

"I am not complacent about it, Aranen, I assure you."

"Perhaps it is a matter of how much you permit your mind to realise. It is a gift I have noted among humans, an ability to seal off from themselves ideas that by their nature induce pain and sorrow. Elves have not this knack."

"I am not shielding myself from truth," Aragorn said, but immediately knew it was a lie and felt a warm flush creep up over his face. He scowled and shook his head. "Well, mayhap you are right after all." He drew a steadying breath. "Tell me what you would have me know. If it concerns Legolas' heart, it is my domain and I must not shirk my duty to it, however hard to hear this may be."

"Ai Elbereth! It is not a terrible thing, Aragorn, to be loved like this," smiled Thranduil, pleased with the man's responses thus far. He patted the mortal's knee consolingly. "It is this: Legolas will not stand in the way if the day comes that you must bend to the will of your people and wed another."

Aragorn stared, dumbfounded. He could see in Thranduil's eyes the sorrow speaking these words had caused him, and swirling through it was also the pride and love of a father, his admiration for the purity of his son's good, true heart. Legolas would stand by his mate through all, no matter what trials and troubles hounded them. Their bond of life over death was their shield, nay, Aragorn's shield, against the dangerous possibilities lying in wait along that shadowed path he must tread, for Legolas would have nothing less than the man's birthright restored in full. The archer would suffer the hurt of stepping aside should need demand it, and probably be there at the marriage, smiling with proud affection upon the couple.

Even this. He loves me to this degree.

The weight of such truth overwhelmed him suddenly and Aragorn's face crumpled. He buried his head in his hands and wept.

"So you can understand it now, Aragorn," spoke Thranduil softly, firmly. "Why you must not resent this friend my son will so sorely need. I think now you see cause to rejoice that there will be such a person to stand with him then."

"Ai Valar," sobbed Aragorn. "How can joy hold such grief within it? This is horrible, unbearable. I don't want him to suffer this. I am not sure I can endure it either. Why did he choose me?"

"Do not condemn his choice. For mortals, fate is something you can bend to your will, but for elves it is never thus. We are not so prone to despair over the destiny ordained for us and so Legolas will not suffer as you imagine it. He sees all this clearly and understood it when he chose you. The reasons he did so are many: natural attraction, admiration of a noble man, a desire to feel whole again, to love instead of hate, to know joy instead of despair. Beyond these obvious ones is something else you must know but have hidden away from your heart. So be it: I will speak the words, because I, too, try to hide from this truth. He is a kin-slayer, Aragorn. Who among my people would have him now?"

Aragorn cried aloud and shook his head, fighting the rise of bitter bile that burned his throat, and when he raised his head found Thranduil's face stricken and wet with tears.

The King sang, pouring out his sorrow in a torrent of sombre notes, the words clothed in grief and draped in misery, layer upon layer reaching back in time and forward into a future yet to be so that the burden of it must be insurmountable. Yet the Music of his life upheld his soul and prevented its decimation, filling it in equal measure with all the love, pride, and joy he had known and would experience in that future yet to be. Thranduil sang, and Aragorn joined him.

 

"Let it be known by all in my hearing. Let every heart attest to my words for all time to come. Let every tree, every leaf, every root and twig perceive the truth of this moment and spread it beyond the borders of our realm. Let Tawar bear witness to my decision and honour it. This is my right as husband and mate of Ranak'lâ. She was taken from me by Shadow and returned to the light of Eru's Song by our child, Legolas. The proof is in my keeping."

Thranduil held up the small golden band between his fingers and though it was too small to be seen clearly even by the eyes of elves, clutched there within his broad, swordsman's hand, a low sigh of mourning swept through the assembly and they swayed as one, chanting a sombre refrain: "The proof is presented and seen by all. She is gone, gone. She is gone."

"Mercy is my choice for my son, that and more. A debt I owe to him, for I should have been the one to go after her, to release her from her prison. I should have been the one to wear the shameful badge of kin-slayer. This being so, he will not be so dishonoured. I decree it now: if any use that hateful slur in speaking of him, to him, or for him, that person shall be banished from Greenwood until he or she seeks out my son and earns his forgiveness."

A murmur ran through the crowd at this, for it was not part of the rubric, and Aragorn heard both acceptance and discontent within it.

The throng filled the meadow, the same in which the company of warriors had rested on the way to the stronghold, for it was for the Wood Elves a scared place. A thousand feet or more, it seemed to him, obscured all but a small circle of grass in the centre where he and Legolas, Thranduil and Elboron, Celon'lir and Mithrandir stood. There was no dais of rare wood or canopy of rich fabric. There was no throne or sign of majesty, save a woven crown of wild flowers about the King's brow, and a similar one adorning Elboron's serious forehead. It was strange to see these humble circlets, things a child might delight in crafting, worn with upon such noble heads.

The elder prince caught the man's eye for a second and let a quick smile and a quicker wink momentarily lighten his grave countenance, as though agreeing with his view, and Aragorn was once more mystified by how these woodland royals so easily read his heart. Elboron took a step that carried him to his brother's side and spoke his part.

"Let it be known: though law demands no kin-slayer must stand in the path of inheritance, neither shall Legolas' rightful place as heir be passed to another. Elo! Here is the bow of Maha Maktâro, Taurê Târo, (Great Wood King) after Denwego, first Taurê Târo, and his son. This bow is broken and cannot be replaced, used in the service of our people too many times, lastly by Legolas only days ago." He raised high the bow from the battle at the crossing, warped and twisted, and grim silence gripped the elves observing.

"It is time to set it aside," Elboron continued, and lowered his arm. "Yet it is an heirloom of our folk and can be neither destroyed nor replaced. So it is for Legolas. None shall be raised up to replace him, nor shall I assume the right of my inheritance. I renounce it here and now. Let the sons of Doronarth make claim against me if they will!" With this challenge Elboron lifted the wilted bow overhead again that all might see.

A great and noisy tumult arose and it was evident to the man that not even Thranduil had been apprised of his brother's intentions. Legolas stood pale and worried, eyes sweeping the arguing crowd as his nephews and nieces became more vocal and voluble. Yet it was clear there was no consensus regarding this issue and Thranduil moved to quiet his people.

"A formal abdication has been announced. As this is a grave matter regarding future leadership, let the heirs of my eldest son take twelve days to make answer. Know that to contest this decision is to contest us both, and Elboron and I will defend his choice, for I confirm it as King: there shall be no heir for Greenwood but Legolas, and if not Legolas, then none."

"Ada!" Legolas answered, stunned, but the elves had become still and gazed upon their King in fear.

"Twelve days is not enough," counselled Mithrandir.

"Nay, it is too much," countered Thranduil. "If there is this much dissension between my second son and the progeny of my eldest, then Greenwood cannot endure it. Better to dissolve the monarchy and return the choosing of a king to the old ways. Since I am still Taurê Târo, this is my rule and the heirs of Doronarth have twelve days to defend their counter claim, should they so wish."

"What of us? What of the voices of Kweni Tarê (Woods People)?" called out a voice behind them, and turning Aragorn saw it was Celon'lir. "We, too, will make answer, Aran Thranduil, in twelve days time, but I will tell you that decision now. We will back Elboron's choice: no heir but Legolas for us."

"You are Doronarth's heir, too," another such exclaimed, "but you do not speak for us all. The decision will be made in family council."

"I do not speak as a son of Doronarth, but as a son of the forest. My mother is sylvan as was my father's mother. Tradition says a male must stand in the house of his bride, and my bride will be a sylvan maid. Am I not, then, a Wood Elf and a sylvan? It is for the sylvan half of my heritage I renounce my claim, for only through that heritage did my father come to such an exalted state. No heir for Greenwood but Legolas!" he cried, and immediately went to embrace his uncle. The two friends parted smiling.

Another soft smattering of muttering voices rippled through the people and now Aragorn could detect a definite sense of approval for Elboron's choice and Celon'lir's strong support of it. Many of Doronarth's people left the glade, but did so without comment or contention and the tension lessened. Thus the conflict ended before it could begin and the ceremony resumed. The man suddenly understood that this was as much a part of the rites as the rest, and felt new admiration not only for Thranduil's handling of it, but for the Wood Elves participation. They were all part of the pageant, the pageant encompassed their culture, and the culture defined their lives. Thranduil began speaking again.

"Let it be known that mercy was not granted only for the love I bear my child, though that is enough for me as Ranak'lâ's mate. Surety has been given of the integrity of Legolas' feä by three proofs: Mithrandir attests that he cleansed my son's soul and scoured it free of all traces of darkness."

"Before Manwë and Eru I swear this is true," stated Mithrandir, nodding his head and setting a firm hand on Legolas' shoulder. "His soul is purer than anyone else's here." Congenial laughter followed this mild jest.

"Second, Legolas salvaged the life of a stranger," Thranduil went on, "a man of honour and dignity beset in Baran Dalf by the minions of Shadow. Afterwards, he gave light from his purified soul to ensure the man's recovery from grievous wounds."

"Before all the Powers in Aman and the One, I swear it is so," Aragorn stepped up and called out loudly, taking his mate's hand. "We share the bond of life over death. Legolas is my mate." A soft susurration wafted through the meadow and the man looked out over a sea of kindly smiles and bright, nodding faces. The people were pleased and Legolas squeezed his hand.

"And that is the third proof: the bond of life over death has been given and received. Legolas and Aragorn are mates," the King concluded.

Now Aragorn drew a deep breath and shared a look with Thranduil, receiving a brief nod as the King stepped back. Mithrandir approached the couple while Thranduil, Celon'lir, and Elboron stood behind them. The man met his mate's happy smile and turned him so they stood face to face, gathered both his hands in both of his, and almost forgot the words he was so overwhelmed with the import of this moment. He dropped to his knees before the archer and realised this was a surprise to everyone when a hushed and startled gasp erupted and then faded away. Yet, it felt natural and right to him and he did not care about the propriety of his action, looking up into the face he loved so dearly.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil and Ranak'lâ, child of the woods, prince of Greenwood, I say to you that I love you. All that you are is precious to me: your eyes and your hair, your smile and your laughter, your clean, golden light. I treasure even that which has given you wisdom beyond your years and sorrow beyond your heart's limits: your tears and your anguish, your anger and your defiance, your need for me. All of this I love. Before the One, before your father and your uncle, your nephew and the emissary from Aman, before the witness of your people gathered here, I claim you for my mate for all time, or at least until I die. What say you, Hervenn? Will you consent to wear my ring as a token of this, our bond?"

"Ai Valar," Legolas whispered, for while all this was as rehearsed, he found the reality somewhat astonishing in its manifestation. Everyone heard him and laughed gently, but he did not hear them, concentrating on the man kneeling at his feet. "I will wear your ring, Aragorn," he answered, voice firm and filled with wonder, and he bent, taking the man's face between his hands, and kissed him deeply.

Around them the glade filled with happy cheering and much laughter, for Legolas had now broken with the forms of the ceremony, too, and affirmed the union before accepting the band, but none could fault him. Merry jesting rang through the throng.

"There's supposed to be a ring, pen neth."

"Aye, let him at least put it on you first."

"Impetuous youth; the man has taken on more than he knows."

"The ring! Show us!"

"Make it official, Aragorn, before he lays claim to you!" That from Celon'lir.

"Sorry, Kalrô" Legolas' cheeks were red and he could scarcely meet his mate's eyes. He had not meant to cause a stir, but as he ran his hands through the man's dark hair and looked fleetingly into the grey depths, he found Aragorn pleased and smiling.

"Do not apologise. Perhaps I would not mind being claimed," he murmured and got the laugh he knew he would, even from Legolas. Then he reached into the pocket of his tunic and came away empty. He felt in another pocket and found nothing. Now a frantic expression suffused his features and he began patting his leggings and then Legolas' in exaggerated panic. More laughter and a huge grin form the archer met with this burlesque and then Thranduil tapped him on the shoulder.

"Here is what you want," he said and held forth his palm. Upon it lay a simple golden band, newly made and inscribed with the names of the couple.

Aragorn took it and settled the band over Legolas' index finger, pleased to see the fit perfect, and raised his eyes to the shining countenance of the woodland archer. "Now you may kiss me." He presented smiling lips amid more laughter.

"Nay, not yet." Legolas set his fingers over the man's mouth and revealed his own surprise. "Aragorn son of Arathorn and Gilraen, Ranger of Eriador, Chieftain of the Dunedain, Heir of Isildur, I say to you that I love you. All that you are, both your virtues and your frailties, I accept and cherish. Our light is already mingled and our souls interwoven. We share the bond of life over death. I have chosen you for my own and ask if you will wear my ring as token of that bond. What say you, Besnô?"

A collective sigh of appreciation went up and Thranduil was seen to wipe at his eyes a time or two, for none had thought so good an end could come from so much horror and strife. Now in pristine silence everyone awaited the man's reply and he did not make them wait long.

"Legolas! You have a ring for me? Yes, give it to me, Hervenn, this is most wondrous," Aragorn enthused, watching as the archer reached into his shirt and withdrew a mithril chain, lifting it from round his neck. On it was suspended a heavy ring, intricately carved in filigree with three rubies set within the uppermost cuts. It was a thing of antiquity and the man caught his breath; it looked like a treasure one might find in the vaults of Menegroth, which it was. What its connection to Legolas could be he dared not guess, holding out his hand to receive it, and the weight of it was substantial as it slid over his knuckle. He smiled and looked back to his mate's proud expression. "Now?"

"Aye, now," laughed Legolas and bent again to Aragorn's lips.

 

They were camped for the night in a small cove of trees, the horses free to graze and play the part of sentinels, a duty Tuilelindô had taught Azrubêl during the journey from Rohan. Near at hand another woodland charger nibbled the grass: Celon'lir's brown and white piebald pony Spinê. Mithrandir's grey palfrey, by virtue of being the mount of so esteemed a being, refrained from the watch and stood with head low, already asleep thought the glow of the setting sun had yet to fade. All the sky was awash in pastel shades of lavender and apricot and vibrant streaks of fading crimson, the thick bank of clouds hovering low on the horizon. Beneath this glorious mantle the small party took their evening meal beneath the trees, chewing on way-bread and dried meat to spare the need for fire and thus preserve anonymity.

Aragorn and Legolas reposed together, the archer stretched out with his head pillowed on the man's lap, singing softly and accepting small morsels from his mate's fingers. Mithrandir sat slouched against his pack and the horses' tack, hat covering his face, hands clasped over his stomach, snoring. Celon'lir sat between them, accompanying his uncle on a small lyre perched upon his knee, his eyes intent upon the man and elf, for he had not before been this close to anyone he knew in the early days of love. He felt a small pang of envy, wishing he could enjoy the contentment which exuded from Legolas' feä, but hastily set that aside. Legolas' joy was dearly bought, and Celon'lir doubted he could endure such strife to earn the same.

He glanced round the terrain, no longer amazed at the great expanse of land rolling away to the horizon, for the most part devoid of trees. He no longer felt vulnerable and open to attack as he had first, seeing his companions' ease with the landscape. Now, he revelled in the excitement of new sights and sounds, places he could not imagine they must be so strange to an elf of the woodlands. He was more pleased than ever with his decision to join Legolas, and as he had no mate, the parting from Greenwood was without sorrow. He would return someday, he knew, but for now he felt Legolas should not be alone, the only one of his kind in this strange world of men to which his life was now bound.

They had left the valley of the Anduin far behind and crossed the clouded peaks of Hithaeglir without incident, though the bite of the cold air had been a burden to elves used to the moderate climate on the riverine valley. The road continued on westward, a thin, unwavering track that bespoke the constant travel of many feet, and this was a wonder to Celon'lir. He began to suspect the population of the wider world was a great number, and these would mostly be mortals. It opened his heart to sadness, realising the truth all elves instinctively knew: their time was drawing to an end. Two more days journey they had come since that thought reordered his reality, and Aragorn had pointed out the intersecting track that led to Imladris. The party had elected not to go there, but continue on to Fornost, for Aragorn was eager to be among his kin again.

Celon'lir paused in his plucking and reached his foot out to nudge the man. "How many more days until we reach this land of men?"

"One day less than it was when you asked that yesterday," Mithrandir suddenly grumped, coming alert and shifting his hat to send the warrior an aggrieved scowl.

"Aye, true enough," laughed Legolas, but he peered up at his mate with the same question in his eyes, just as anxious and eager as his nephew, if not more so.

"We are half-way betwixt the Bruinen Ford and the Last Bridge over Hoarwell. After we cross, we must bear sharply north and skirt the Weather Hills. That, or sludge through the Midgewater Marsh…"

"Ai Valar, no!" interrupted Legolas. "I've seen enough swamps of late, Kalrô. Let us brave these hills, since we have survived the High Pass."

"I thought the same," admitted Aragorn.

"So, then, what comes next?" Celon'lir asked again.

"We bear west toward Fornost. I predict it will take a good week of solid riding, if no trouble discovers us," replied the man.

"Well, I am going to Bree and then on to Hobbiton," announced the wizard. "I need to check on my old friends there."

"Bilbo?" Aragorn nodded, smiling, for he'd heard the tales of course, fully aware of the stir caused by the wizard's meddling in Bilbo's staid and sedate life, but was too young to be permitted to meet the dwarves and the hobbit on their visit to Rivendell. He cast a questioning eye upon his mate, for Legolas would have been quite young then, too. "You know about all that business, Melethen?"

"Elbereth, yes. 'The Barrel Incident', Doronarth used to call it. I remember when they all rode off to war, and when they came back." He paused and met Celon'lir's eyes. "It was the first time we understood that a warrior's life could be cut short."

"Aye," nodded Celon'lir solemnly. "We lost some people in that battle. Before it, I imagined the fight against our enemies was all a romance of honour and glory, without anything of pain, or fear, or sorrow in it." He stopped speaking and cast down his eyes, still ashamed that he had deserted Legolas at the Tower. Now it was the man who nudged him with a booted toe and Celon'lir looked up to find Aragorn's compassionate grey eyes upon him.

"If it helps you, many a great general has quailed in the first onrush of conflict only to discover a courage and determination far greater than he might have otherwise. Among my people, you will find ample means to prove to yourself that this is so, Celon'lir."

"I pray you are right," he said quietly and then both elves and all the horses suddenly came to attention, Legolas and Celon'lir on their feet and striding toward their mounts. "Riders," announced Celon'lir as Aragorn scrambled up and followed them.

He and Mithrandir scanned the horizon in the direction the elves faced but saw nothing.

"One rider," corrected Legolas, and then he suddenly smiled and cast a teasing look at his mate. "Now, do not slay him out of hand, Kalrô."

"What? Who is it?" The man's hand went for his sword as he strained to catch sight of the rider. Soon, a tiny black spot distinguished itself from the ground in the hazy light.

"It is Caedmon," Legolas reassured. "No need to frighten him off. Perhaps he has news for Lord Thorongil from the new King in Rohan.

"Oh. Yes, you may be right," the man was only partly mollified, for he still felt keenly the man's interest in Legolas was more than friendly. "We are mates now and I mean fro him to know it at once," he said sternly, arms crossing over his chest.

"We were then, too, and he does know it," insisted Legolas. "He does not care for males in that way, Kalrô, be at peace and welcome this soldier of the plains."

Aragorn gave grudging agreement and all waited while night fell and the rider neared, yet it was dawn before Caedmon came to their camp, met by the Ranger with gruff welcome. The warrior smiled and called a hearty welcome to Legolas as he dismounted.

"Caedmon, well met," said the elf and introduced him to Celon'lir. "Why have you followed us?"

"I have gained leave of Selwyn and Thengel King to do this," he began, too excited to sort out his thoughts properly. "I am to be the representative for my people to you, Prince Legolas, and your guard and servant wherever you may go. What say you to that?"

"Legolas does not need a guard," growled Aragorn.

"Oh, nay, Lord Thorongil, I assure you my interest is one of friendship only and extends to you both, of course. You surely cannot expect Prince Legolas to do his own laundry and mending and cooking and such."

At this Celon'lir burst into laughter. "Well, he never has before now, mellon, but we cannot keep personal servants out in the wilds of Eriador."

"Why not?" demanded Caedmon and turned back to Legolas. "In the world of men, your status must be clearly demonstrated, my prince. I will stand as a buffer between you and the curious who might encroach upon your dignity."

"Ai! I am not anybody's prince, Caedmon, but I find your reasoning logical," said Legolas.

"What?" Aragorn stared at his mate, agog. "You want to drag along a manservant to Fornost? Legolas, the Rangers do not live that way."

"All the more reason for me to come along, then," Caedmon stated. "I accept your terms, Legolas, and will drop the title as long as I can refer to you as Lord for the benefit of any men we encounter. That way, they will understand your place is set apart among them."

"As my mate, Legolas place is not one that can be set apart," argued Aragorn.

"Nay, there is truth in his words," said Mithrandir. "Among mortals, Legolas is already strange, suspect by his very nature. It may be prudent to have a human guard and an elven guard, both, that none may mistake his uniqueness for loneliness."

"I think I can adequately impress upon my people that Legolas is mine and not to be harassed," fumed Aragorn.

"Well, that's the point, isn't it?" asked Mithrandir. "Do you mean to start off your leadership by showing distrust for you fellow Rangers and barking at everyone who speaks to Legolas? He is to be at your side daily and will fight with your men. He needs to stand on his own and show that his influence is beneficial. The Rangers need to accept him on his own merits, not because he is your mate, or this isn't going to work."

"He's right," nodded Caedmon and all eyes looked to Aragorn.

The man could see he'd been overruled and thought this did not bode well for his future leadership skills. He frowned, still disliking adding the young Rohirric knight to their entourage, but sighed and then shrugged. "So be it. If you wish a retainer to accompany you, I will not oppose it, Melethen."

"Good!" exclaimed Caedmon and immediately set about breaking their camp and putting things in order, even to saddling Aragorn's horse. Before long all were mounted and on the way, and Legolas guided his horse alongside the young man's.

"The first thing you must learn is the ways of the Rangers in regards to naming their leaders," he said. "Take Thorongil, for instance."

"Legolas!" Aragorn shouted, shocked that his mate was about to reveal so serious a secret to Caedmon.

"We either trust him or we don't," announced the elf. "I, for one, trust him."

Again it fell to Aragorn to answer and once more he gave way to his mate. Over the course of the day, Celon'lir and Caedmon learned that what to call their leader depended on the time, place, and person they might be addressing at the moment. Aragorn bore their jokes and additional names with stoic mirth, finally relenting to the addition to their company with better grace. Thus, the small party travelled on, and when Mithrandir left them, the four remained together, two men and two elves entering into Fornost amid the curious and guarded reserve of the Rangers.

The End


End file.
